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SACRED POEMS 



PRIVATE EJACULATIONS "% 6S~^ 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 



WITH A MEMOIR 



THE REV. H. F. LYTE. 



BOSTON : 
Li*TTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY. 

NEW YORK: EVANS AND DICKERSON. , 
PHILADELrHIA: LIPriNCOTT, GRAMBO AND CO. 
M.DCCC.LIV. 



Mi's* 



BOSTON: 

PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON & SON, 

22, School Strket. 

STEREOTYPED BY MESSRS. STONE & SMART, 
RIVERSIDE. 



By Transfer 
JUN 5 190 ? 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Biographical Sketch of Henry Vaughan ... 1 

The Author's Preface 31 

Dedication 43 

authoris (de se) emblema 49 

sllex scintillans, or sacred poems. — part i. 

Regeneration 53 

Death. A Dialogue 56 

Resurrection and Immortality ■ . . . . . 58 

Day of Judgement . . .. r . . . 61 

Religion ': . . .63 

The Search . . . . . , . . . 65 
Isaac's Marriage . . . ; . " .v . . .69 
The Brittish Church ........ 72 

The Lampe 73 

Man's Fall and Recovery 74 

The Showre 75 

Distraction 76 

The Pursuite 78 

Mount of Olives 78 

The Incarnation and Passion 80 

The Call 81 

" Thou that know'st for whom I mourne" . . .82 

Vanity of Spirit 84 

TheRetreate 86 

"Come, come! what doe I here " .... 87 

Midnight 88 

Content 90 

" Jov of my life while left me here " . . . .91 

The" Storm 92 

CThe Morning Watch 93 



IV m CONTENTS. 

Silex Scintillans (continued). Page 

The Evening Watch 94 

" Silence and stealth of day es ! 'tis now" . . .95 

Church Service 96 

Buriall . .97 

Chearfulness . 99 

" Sure there's a tye of bodyes ! and as they" . . 100 

Peace . 101 

The Passion 102 

Rom. viii. 19 104 

The Relapse 106 

The Resolve 107 

The Match . 108 

Rules and Lessons 110 

Corruption 116 

H. Scriptures 117 

Unprofitablenes 118 

Christ's Nativity 119 

The Check 121 

Disorder and Frailty 123 

Idle Verse 125 

Son-dayes 126 

Repentance • 127 

The Burial of an Infant . . . . • . . 130 

Faith 131 

The Dawning 133 

Admission 135 

Praise 136 

Dressing 138 

Easter-day 140 

Easter Hymn 141 

The Holy Communion 142 

Psalm cxxi 144 

Affliction 145 

The Tempest 146 

Retirement 149 

Love and Discipline 151 

The Pilgrimage 152 

The Law and the Gospel 153 

The World 155 

TheMutinie. 157 

The Constellation 159 

The Shepheards 162 

Misery 164 

The Sap 168 

Mount of Olives 170 

Man 171 

" I walkt the other day, to spend my hour " . 172 

Begging 174 



CONTENTS. V 

SlLEX SdNTILLANS. — PART II. Page 

Ascension-day 179 

Ascension Hymn 181 

"They are all gone into the world of light'' . . 183 

White Sunday 185 

The Proffer 188 

Cock-crowing . . . 190 

The Starre 192 

The Palm-tree 193 

Joy • 194 

The Favour 196 

The Garland 19G 

Love-sick 198 

Trinity-Sunday 199 

Psalme civ 199 

The Bird 204 

The Timber 205 

The Jews 208 

Begging 210 

Palm-Sunday 211 

Jesus Weeping 213 

The Daughter of Herodias . . . . . 214 

Jesus Weeping 215 

Providence 217 

The Knot 219 

The Ornament 220 

St. Mary Magdalen . . . . . s . .221 

The Rainbow 223 

The Seed growing secretly . . . . . . . 225 

11 As time one day by me did pass " . . . 227 

" Fair and yong light ! my guide to holy " . . . 229 

The Stone 231 

The Dwelling-place 233 

The Men of War 234 

The Ass 236 

The Hidden Treasure 239 

Childe-hood 240 

The Night ........ 242 

Abel's Blood . . . . . . . .244 

Righteousness 246 

Anguish 2^8 

Tears 249 

Jacob's Pillow and Pillar 250 

The Agreement . 252 

The Day of Judgement 255 

Psalm lxv 257 

The Throne . . . 259 

Death 259 

The Feast 261 



VI CONTENTS. 

Silex Scintillass (continued). Page 

The Obsequies . 264 

The Water-fall . . . . . . . .265 

Quickness 267 

The Wreath 268 

The Queer 269 

The Book 269 

To the Holy Bible 271 

L'Envoy 272 

Thalia Eediviva. Pious Thoughts and Ejacula- 
tions. — Part III. 

To his Books 277 

Looking Back 278 

The Shower 279 

Discipline 279 

The Ecclipse 280 

Affliction 281 

Retirement 281 

The Revival 283 

The Day-spring 283 

The Recovery 285 

The Nativity 286 

The True Christinas 288 

The Request 289 

The World . . .290 

The Bee 294 

To Christian Religion 298 

Daphnis 300 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



HENRY VAUGHAN, 



SILURIST. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 

BY REV. H. F. LYTE. 

The principal collections of the British Poets were 
made at a time when the taste for French correct- 
ness was in the ascendant among us. This may in 
some measure account for the fact that so many 
smooth rhymsters, such as Pomfret, Yalden, Lans- 
down, &c. have been placed on that august list, while 
Lord Brooke, the Fletchers, Withers, Herrick, 
Habington, and Quarles, have been excluded from 
it ; and it is only when some happy accident brings 
these writers and their productions under our no- 
tice, that we discover how many of the true poets 
of England have been pushed from their places, to 
make room for mere pretenders to the title. In 
some instances it would almost seem as if these 
writers had been studiously run down by those who 
stole from them first, and then sought to consign 
them to obscurity, in order to cover their own pla- 
giarisms. From the days of Milton, however, 
down to those of Burns and Cowper, a very low 



2 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

f 

standard of poetic excellence prevailed in this 
country ; and a trifling offence against good taste, 
a slight ruggedness in style and composition, were 
sufficient to condemn a poet of no mean order to 
oblivion ; as if any correctness of taste or smooth- 
ness of versification could atone for the actual 
dearth of originality. Among those who have 
experienced in a remarkable degree this unfair 
treatment is the poet, a part of whose works we 
propose now to republish. He is entirely unno- 
ticed in the great collections of Bell, Anderson, and 
Chalmers ; and even Campbell, in his " Specimens 
of the British Poets," speaks in the most slighting 
manner of his talents and productions. All this, 
however, is trifling in comparison with the treat- 
ment he receives at the hands of his own county 
historian, Jones. This writer actually doubts whe- 
ther Henry Vaughan ever produced any poetry 
whatever. He tells us that two little pieces of his, 
the " Olor Iscanus " and the " Charnel House," were 
published by Thomas Vaughan, in the name of his 
brother Henry ; but that they were generally be- 
lieved to be Thomas Vaughan's own compositions. 
So ignorantly and flippantly could the historian of 
Brecknockshire write respecting one of its greatest 
literary ornaments, whose works, now before us, 
amount to seven printed volumes. How far this 
depreciation was deserved, the poems preserved in 
the following pages will best testify ; but we are 
much deceived if many of them do not commend 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 6 

themselves to all readers of true poetic taste, as 
among the most striking compositions of their age. 
Tn this case a desire will naturally arise to know 
something respecting the author, and this curiosity 
the editor here endeavours to gratify; and after 
carefully looking through the aforesaid volumes, 
and making what inquiries he could both at Oxford 
and in the neighbourhood where Vaughan lived and 
died, he offers in the following biographical sketch 
the results of his researches. It may be as well 
here further to observe, that Henry Vaughan the 
poet must not be confounded with another of the 
same name, college, and neighbourhood, who wrote 
two little theological pieces of some merit. Though 
possessing so many features in common, they were, 
as the records of Jesus College show, totally dif- 
ferent persons. 

Henry Vaughan, styled by his contemporaries 
" the Silurist," from his having been born among 
the Silures, or people of South Wales, was des- 
cended from one of the most ancient and respectable 
families of the principality, deducing its pedigree 
from the ancient kings of that country. Two of 
his ancestors, Sir Roger Vaughan and Sir David 
Gam, lost their lives at the battle of Agincourt. 
His great grandmother was Lady Frances Somer- 
set, daughter of Thomas Somerset, third son of 
Henry Earl of Worcester ; and the possessions 
of the Vaughan family were very extensive both in 
Brecknockshire and in other parts of Wales. The 



4: BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

chief family residence was the castle of Tretower, in 
the parish of Cwmdu, and, when it was dismantled, 
Skethrock, or Scethrog, in the same neighbourhood. 
At this latter place, Shakespeare is said to have 
paid a visit to one of the family ; and his commen- 
tator Malone thinks that it was perhaps there that 
he picked up the word " Puck/' respecting the 
origin of which some of his critics have been much 
puzzled. Pooky, in Welsh, signifies a goblin ; and 
near Scethrog exists a valley, Cwm-Pooky, the 
goblin's vale, which belonged to the Vaughans, 
and which a tradition, still extant, states to have 
been a favorite resort of some distinguished " Bard," 
who had once visited that neighbourhood. The 
grandfather of the poet appears to have migrated 
from Tretower to Newton, in the parish of Llan- 
saintfread, about five miles distant from the family 
residence ; and there his son Henry, in the year 
1621, had issue Henry and Thomas Vaughan, twin 
brothers, the former of them the subject of the 
present memoir. Newton, once a comfortable man- 
sion, is now a farm-house near the Usk, on the 
road leading from Crickhowel to Brecon, and 
distant about five miles from the latter place. 
Henry Vaughan styles it himself, in the date 
aflixed to one of his dedications, " Newton by 
Uske, near Sketh-rock." The situation is a very 
beautiful one, well calculated to nurse poetic thought 
and feeling; and there is abundant evidence in 
Vaughan's works to show that it was not unap- 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 

predated by its poetic occupant. There are some 
very sweet Latin verses in one of his early volumes 
addressed to the Usk, and the following lines occur 
in one of his English apostrophies to the same 
river : — 

" Garlands and songs and roundelayes, 
Mild dewie nights and sunshine dayes, 
The turtle's voyce, joy without fear, 
Dwell on thy bosome all the year I 
To thee the wind from far shall bring 
The odours of the scattered spring, * 

And loaden with the rich arreare 
Spend it in spicie whispers here." 

At the age of eleven years, Henry Vaughan and 
his brother were sent for education to the Rev. 
Matthew Herbert, rector of Llangattock, under 
whose tuition they continued during the ensuing 
six years. Here they seem to have made con- 
siderable progress in classical literature, and to 
have imbibed a strong affection for their tutor, as 
well as a lively sense of their obligations toward 
him. They have both left behind them elegant 
and affectionate tributes in Latin Elegiacs to their 
old preceptor, and the graceful classicality of these 
compositions proves how well their praises were 
deserved. 

From Llangattock the brothers in due time 
moved on to Oxford, and entered at Jesus College 
in the year 1638. They were then between seven- 
teen and eighteen years of age, and well qualified 



b BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

for engaging in the studies of the University. 
They had fallen, however, on times unpropitious to 
literary pursuits. The great rebellion was now 
fermenting, and politics seemed to push every 
thing else into the back-ground. The king, too, by 
and by moved his court from London to Oxford, 
where he had the sympathy and support of almost 
all the members of the University. It was scarcely 
to be expected that two young and ardent spirits, 
like those of the Vaughans, would be indifferent to 
the royal- cause. They were sprung from a family 
distinguished for its loyalty, and Wales throughout 
the Civil War was always favorable to Charles : 
accordingly we find them both zealous royalists. 
Thomas Vaughan actually bore arms on the king's 
side, and Henry suffered obloquy and imprisonment 
for his known and avowed attachment to his royal 
master. This latter fact appears from a poem of 
his addressed to his " learned friend and loyal 
fellow-prisoner, Thomas Powell, D. D." Whether 
he ever actually took the field on the king's side 
may be a matter of doubt. He speaks, in a poem 
of his, of having been " torn from the side " of a 
dear young friend, K. W., in the battle of Rowton 
Heath, near Chester, 1645; and there are other 
passages in his works which seem to intimate that 
he had been engaged in actual conflict with the 
enemy. However, on the other hand, a Latin 
poem of his, written in 1647, expressly asserts that 
he had nothing to do with open warfare. He 



HENRY VAUGHAN. V 

considered, he tells us, that there was a voice in a 
brother's blood, which would cry to Heaven against 
the shedder of it ; and therefore he conscientiously 
abstained from meeting in the field his infatuated 
countrymen, though not from the advocacy of his 
sovereign's cause, by every means which he deemed 
legitimate. His brother Thomas, however, had 
none of these scruples ; and as his history is rather 
a singular one, it may as well be here pursued to 
its close. Obtaining ordination from Bishop Main- 
waring, he was presented by a distant relation to 
the living of Llansaintfread, the place of his birth, 
and went to reside there, close to his brother 
Henry. The Parliamentary Ecclesiastical Com- 
missioners soon afterwards commenced their in- 
quisitorial visitations ; and Thomas Yaughan was 
expelled by them from his living, on the usual 
charges of drunkenness, swearing, incontinency, 
and having borne arms for the king ; the latter 
probably being, as in many other instances, his 
only real offence. On this event he retired to 
Oxford, and devoted the rest of his life to chem- 
istry, or rather alchemy, under the auspices of Sir 
Robert Murray, Secretary of State for Scotland, 
himself a great admirer of these studies. "While 
in his service, Thomas Vaughan published several 
works in verse and prose under the title of Euge- 
nius Philalethes. The names of some of these 
are very whimsical and amusing. There is, first, 
" Anima Magica Abscondita, or a Discourse of 



8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

the Universal Spirit of Nature, with the strange, 
abstruse, and miraculous ascent and descent. — 
London, 1650." " Anthroposophia Theomagica, 
or a Discourse of the Nature of Man, and his state 
after death, grounded on his Creator's proto-chem- 
istry. — London, 1 650." " Magia Adamica, or the 
Antiquity of Magic, and the descent thereof from 
Adam downward, proved ; together with a perfect 
and full discovery of the true Coelum Terrae, or 
the Magician's Heavenly Chaos, and first matter 
of all things. — London, 1650." The last that we 
shall mention is, " Euphrates, or the Waters of the 
East, being a short discourse of that secret fountain, 
whose water flows from fire, and carries in it the 
beams of the sun and moon. — London, 1653." 
In the year 1665, on the plague breaking out in 
London, the court of Charles II. removed to Ox- 
ford, and Thomas Vaughan and his patron accom- 
panied it. A few days afterwards, however, he 
was taken ill ; and, retiring to Albury, in the 
neighbourhood, he died there, Feb. 27th, 1665. 
Anthony Wood sums up his character by saying : 
" He was a great chymist, a noted lover of the 
fire, an experimental philosopher, a zealous brother 
of the Kosicrucian fraternity, an understander of 
some of the Oriental languages, and a tolerable 
good English and Latin poet. He was neither 
Papist nor sectary, but a true resolute Protestant, 
in the best sense of the church of England." The 
two brothers seem to have been always strongly 



HENRY VAUGHAN. tf 

attached to each other. Thomas had the highest 
admiration of his brother's poetical powers, and 
ushered in his early works with strong prefatorial 
commendations ; and Henry pathetically laments 
his more eccentric brother's untimely death, in 
the verses entitled " Daphnis," printed at the end 
of this volume. 

It was during this period of Henry Vaughan's 
life that his earliest verses were produced. He 
was intimate with most of the young literary men 
of the day, and his occasional effusions appear to 
have been highly prized and long remembered 
among them. He speaks with much delight of 
his occasional visits to London at this time, and of 
the social evenings spent there at the Globe Ta- 
vern. He mentions Randolph as one whom he 
specially delighted in. He flung his poetic tribute, 
along with so many others, on Cartwright's prema- 
ture hearse. Fletcher's plays, published in 1647, 
came out with commendatory verses of his prefixed 
to them. And Ben Jonson, " great Ben," seems 
to have been an object of his peculiar admiration. 
At this period also his own first publication was 
given to the world, a little volume of verses, chiefly 
amatory, addressed to Amoret, in the light easy 
style of the day, and closing with a translation — 
not a close one — of the tenth Satire of Juvenal. 
Some of these poems exhibit a good deal of vigour 
and freedom in their versification. The following 
is a favourable specimen : — 



10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

" But grant some richer planet at my birth 
Had spied me out, and measured so much earth 
Or gold unto my share, I should have been 
Slave to these lower elements, and seen 
My high-born soul flagge with their drosse, and lye 
A prisoner to base mud and alchemic 
I should perhaps eate orphans, and sucke up 
A dozen distrest widowes in one cup. 

Thanks then for this deliverance, blessed Powers ! 
You that dispense man's fortune and his houres ! 
How am I to you all engaged ! that thus 
By such strange meanes, almost miraculous, 
You should preserve me ! you have gone the way 
To make me rich by taking all away. 
For I, had I been rich, as sure as fate, 
Would have been meddling with the king or state, 
Or something to undoe me; and 'tis fit, 
We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit. 
But, above all, thanks to that Providence, 
That armed me with a gallant soule and sense 
' Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breathed so much 
Of Heaven into me, that I scorn the touch 
Of these low things, and can with courage dare 
Whatever fate or malice can prepare. 
I envy no man's purse or mines. I know 
That losing them I've lost their curses too." 

The little volume from whence these lines are 
taken is entitled, " Poems, with the tenth Satyre 
of Juvenal Englished, by Henry Vaughan, Gent. 
London, 1646." 

It became, however, now necessary that Henry 
Vaughan should turn his attention to some pro- 
fession for a livelihood. Whatever patrimony may 
have descended to him by inheritance, it appears 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 11 

to have been inadequate to his support. Besides, 
he was a poet, one of that race of whom he play- 
fully says himself, — 

" Thou shalt not find a rich one. Take each clime, 
And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time, 
Thou'lt meet them poor, and everywhere descrie 
A threadbare, gold-less genealogie." 

That this lot was not indeed a very distressing 
one to him, we may conjecture from a passage 
already quoted, as well as from other lines of his, 
in which, addressing Fortune, he says : — 

" I care not for your wondrous hat and purse ! 
The world's my palace. I'le contemplate there, 
And make my progress into every sphere. 
The chambers of the aire are mine, those three 
Well-furnished stories my possession be. 
I hold them ail in capite, and stand 
Propt by my fancy there. I scorn your land, 
It lies so far below me. Here I see 
How all the sacred stars do circle me." 

Then, after casting off all the grosser parts of 
nature, he proceeds : — 

" Get up, my disentangled soul ! thy fire 
Is now refined, and nothing left to tire 
Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight 
Hath brought me to the empyrean light. 
I am a separate essence, and can see 
The emanations of the Deitie ; 
And how they pass the seraphims, and run 
Through every throne and domination. 
With angels now and spirits do I dwell; 
And here it is my nature to do well. 
And shall I then forsake the stars and signs, 
To dote upon thy dark and cursed mines ? " 



12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OP 

All this, however, though fine in the way of 
poetic speculation, would not do for every-day 
practice. Accordingly, Henry Vaughan, having 
no taste for the church (indeed there was not much 
to attract him thither in such times), turned his 
attention to medical pursuits ; and, leaving Oxford 
without graduating there, he went to London, 
and, in due time, became M.D., and retired to 
practice at Brecknock (now Brecon), the county 
town, a few miles distant from his native place. 
He found things greatly changed there under the 
republican regime, and not very congenial, it would 
seem, to his own feelings. 

" Here's brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight 
Of high monumental hats, tane at the fight 
Of eighty-eight; while every burgesse foots 
The mortal pavement in eternall boots." 

We find him accordingly soon migrating from 
thence to his native residence, Newton, where he 
continued to pursue his profession, and to employ 
his leisure hours in various literary occupations. 

About this time it was that he prepared for the 
press his little volume, entitled "Olor Iscanus," 
the swan of the Usk, the dedication of which, to the 
Lord Kildare Digby, bears date December 17, 
1647. This volume, however, he never himself 
published. It appears to have been consigned to 
the hands of his brother, when he returned to Ox- 
ford, on his ejection from the living of Llansaint- 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 13 

fread ; and in 1651, three years afterwards, it was 
printed by him, with an apologetic advertisement, 
and commendatory verses from himself and other 
Oxford friends. Thomas Vaughan, in his address 
to the reader, expressly says: "I have not the 
author's approbation to the fact " (viz. of publica- 
tion) ; " but I have the law on my side," (as) " I 
hold it no man*s prerogative to fire his own house." 
It would appear, therefore, that Henry Vaughan 
wished to have destroyed these ebullitions of his 
youthful muse, as he had many others of the same 
kind ; and that they were, in the end, published 
contrary to his desire. Yet there is really nothing 
objectionable in the volume. The poems contained 
in it are not of a strictly religious character ; yet 
they are full of just and noble sentiments, and I 
am not aware of a line that any one need have 
been ashamed of. The volume, when complete, 
has a curious frontispiece, engraved by Robert 
Vaughan, (qu. a relation?) with the swan of the 
Usk very conspicuous in the centre of it, and some 
Latin verses, " ad Posteros," before it, giving, in 
enigmatical language, a slight sketch of the author's 
life and opinions. The matter consists of original 
poems, many of them addressed to persons of the 
author's acquaintance, together with translations 
from Ovid's Tristia, Boethius, and Casimir ; and a 
brief specimen or two will suffice to show that they 
are not without their beauties. 

In an Epithalamium occur these lines, — 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

" Fresh as the houres may all your pleasures be, 
And healthfull as eternitie ! 
Sweet as the flowre's first breath, and close 
As th' unseen spreadings of the rose, 
When he unfolds his curtained head, 
And makes his bosome the sun's bed ! 

Of the Lady Elizabeth, daughter of James L, 
he says : — 

" Thou seem'st a rose-bud born in snow, 
A flowre of purpose sprung to bow 
To heedless tempests, and the rage 
Of an incensed stormie age. 
And yet, as balm-trees gently spend 
Their tears for those that doe them rend, 
Thou did'st not murmure nor revile, 
But drank' st thy wormwood with a smile." 

In a different strain, he thus concludes an invi- 
tation to a friend to Brecknock : — 

" Come, then ! and while the slow isicle hangs 
At the stiffe thatch, and winter's frostie pangs 
Benumme the year, blithe as of old let us, 
'Mid noise and war, of peace and mirth discusse. 
This portion thou wert born for. Why should we 
Vex at the time's ridiculous miserie ? 
An age that thus hath fooled itself, and will, 
Spite of thy teeth and mine, persist so still. 
Let's sit, then, at this fire ; and, while wee steal 
A revell in the town, let others seal, 
Purchase, and cheat, and who can let them pay, 
Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day. 
Innocent spenders wee ! a better use 
Shall wear out our short lease, and leave the obtuse 
Eout to their husks. They and their bags, at best, 
Have cares in earnest. Wee care for a jest ! " 



HENRY YAUGHAN. 15 

Another poem, the " Christian Politician," thus 
ends : — 

" Come, then, rare politicians of the time, 
Brains of some standing, elders in our clime, 
See here the method. A wise, solid state 
Is quick in acting, friendly in debate, 
Joynt in advice, in resolutions just, 
Mild in successe, true to the common trust. 
It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand 
Allayes the heat and burnings of a land. 
Religion guides it ; and in all the tract 
Designes so twist, that Heaven confirms the act. 
If from these lists you wander, as you steere, 
Look back, and catechise your actions here. 
These are the marks to which true statesmen tend, 
And greatness here with goodness hath one end." 

We can only afford room for one specimen of 
the translations : — 

Boethius, Metkum 4. 
" Whose calme soule in a settled state 
Kicks under foot the frowns of fate, 
And in his fortunes, bad or good. 
Keep the same temper in his bloud, 
Not him the flaming clouds above, 
Nor Etna's fierie tempests, move. 
No fretting seas from shore to shore, 
Boy ling with indignation o'er, 
Nor burning thunderbolt, that can 
A mountain shake, can stirre this man! " 

At the close of this volume are inserted four 
prose translations, all of them bearing more or less 
on the author's pursuits or circumstances. The 
first, " On the Benefit we may get by our Ene- 
mies," from Plutarch ; the second, " Of the Dis- 



16 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

eases of the Mind and Bodie," from the same ; 
another, on the same subject, from Maximus Ty- 
rius ; and, lastly, " The Praise and Happinesse of 
the Country Life," from the Spanish of Guevara. 
All these have separate title-pages, and were pub- 
lished in the year 1651. 

We now, however, approach a very important 
period of our poet's life, when a change seems to 
have come over his spirit, which influenced it to the 
close of his earthly career. He was at this time 
visited by a severe and lingering illness, of what 
character exactly is not specified. It was, how- 
ever, of a nature to bring him to the brink of the 
grave, and to keep him long in a state of solitude 
and suffering ; and, while he was in this condition, 
more deep and solemn religious views and feelings 
appear to have broken in upon his soul than any 
he had before harboured. The high and holy 
claims of God ; the infinite importance of eternity ; 
the worthlessness of the world, and the folly of 
living for it ; the baseness of sin, and the conse- 
quences of indulging in it, — all seem to have 
pressed heavily on his mind at this crisis, and to 
have filled him with great humility and serious- 
ness ; and, though he subsequently learned to look 
with hope and comfort to the mercy of God, vouch- 
safed to the penitent, through the death and merits 
of Jesus Christ, still this spirit of lowly watchful- 
ness, so suitable to frail humanity, seems never to 
have left him. He carried it with him to his 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 17 

dying bed, and it appears in the epitaph he wished 
to be inscribed on his tomb. During this period 
likewise, he seems to have had his affections se- 
verely tried by the untimely death of friends. 
There are, in the pieces composed by him at this 
season, many touching, though obscure, allusions 
to such losses. And these, along with his other 
trials, contributed to break up the fallow ground in 
his heart, and prepare it for the reception of the 
divine seed that was subsequently sown there. 
Just at this time, he became acquainted with the 
writings of George Herbert, and derived from them 
so much of comfort and instruction, that he deter- 
mined to make the life and compositions of that 
holy man his own future models. In imitation, 
therefore, of his Temple, he composed, during the 
intervals of exemption from acute suffering, a num- 
ber of little " Sacred Poems and Private Ejacu- 
lations ; " and, while his Oxford friends were 
publishing, contrary to his wishes, the " Olor Isca- 
nus," he gave the world a more faithful record of 
his mind and heart, in a collection of these, entitled, 
"Silex Scintillans " (Sparks from the Flintstone). 
This work was printed in London in the year 
1650, and consisted of only one of the two parts 
subsequently published together. 

Close upon this publication followed a little 
book of devotions in prose, entitled " The Mount 
of Olives," and printed in the year 1652. It con- 
sists entirely of prayers, meditations, and admoni- 
c 



18 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

tions, all excellent of their kind, and calculated at 
once to benefit the reader, and raise the writer in 
his estimation. There is little or no poetry in the 
volume, the only original poetical production there 
being a kind of preface to the last piece in the 
volume, " An excellent Discourse of the blessed 
State of Man in Glory, written by the most reve- 
rend and holy Father Anselm, Archbishop of 
Canterbury." The lines are as follows : — 

" Here holy Anselme lives in every page, 
And sits archbishop still to vex the age. 
Had he foreseen (and who knows but he did?) 
This fatal wrack, which deepe in time lay hid, 
'Tis but just to believe, that little hand, 
Which clouded him, but now benights our land, 
Had never, like Elias, driven him hence, 
A sad retirer for a slight offence. 
For were he now, like the returning year, 
Restored to view these desolations here, 
He would do penance for his old complaint, 
And weeping say that Eufus was a saint." 

This work is dedicated, October 1st, 1651, to 
Sir Charles Egerton, Knight, to whom the writer 
says : " I know, sir, you will be pleased to accept 
this poore olive leafe presented to you, so that I 
shall not be driven to put forth my hand to take 
in my dove again." It will be conjectured, from 
the epithets given to St. Anselm, that Vaughan's 
religious spirit, though very fervent and real, was 
not exactly of the character of that which pre- 
vailed at this time. The Puritan principle had 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 19 

been to cry down antiquity, and pour contempt 
on that which was authorized and established. 
Vaughan, on the other hand, was a lover of order. 
He knew how to distinguish between forms and 
formality. He delighted to look up to the great 
and good of other days for direction and prece- 
dent. What others before him had found to be 
conducive to their spiritual welfare might, he 
thought, conduce to his. He was glad, therefore, 
to listen to their teaching, and conform to their 
example ; and instruction always came to him with 
additional weight and force, when backed by such 
authority. 

At no very distant period, Vaughan sent forth 
another little volume in* prose, entitled, " Flores 
Solitudinis " (Flowers of Solitude), " certaine 
pieces collected by him in his sicknesse and retire- 
ment." There are, first, two discourses, the one 
"Of Temperance and Patience," and the other 
" Of Life and Death," translated, in 1652, from the 
Latin of Nierembergius ; secondly, " The World 
Contemned," taken from Eucherius, Bishop of 
Lyons ; and, thirdly, " The Life of Paulinus, Bishop 
of Nola," compiled by Vaughan himself. These 
are dedicated to the same Sir Charles Egerton to 
whom his "Mount of Olives" was inscribed; and 
his address to him concludes in these words : " You 
will look upon my suddaine and small presents as 
upon some forward flowers, whose kinde haste hath 
brought them above ground in cold weather. The 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

uncertainty of life, and a peevish, inconstant state 
of health, would not suffer me to stay for greater 
performances or a better season, lest, losing this, 
I should never again have the opportunity to 
manifest how much and how sincerely I am, sir, 
your servant, &c." These pieces, Vaughan tells 
us, were likewise translated by him during his long 
illness. They had comforted and instructed him 
under his heavy afflictions, and he published them 
in the hope that they might produce like effects on 
others, and enable them likewise to give up the 
world for God. u To leave the world," he says in 
his preface, " when it leaves us, is both sordid and 
sorrowful : I honour that temper which can lay by 
the garland when he might keep it on ; which can 
pass by a rose-bud, and bid it grow, when he is 
invited to crop it." It is a remarkable circum- 
stance, that some of the most sweet and simple 
prose writers in our language are to be found 
among those whose compositions in verse are the 
most full of affectations and conceits. What a 
dissimilarity, for instance, is there between Cow- 
ley's " Essays " and his " Mistress," between 
Donne's " Sermons " and his " Poems " ! Quarles's 
grotesque quaintness in his " Emblems " curiously 
contrasts with the simple strength of his " Judg- 
ment and Mercy ; " and we find little of the epi- 
grammatic abruptness of the " Night Thoughts " 
in Young's " Centaur not Fabulous. "And, if 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 21 

in prose, it seems highly probable, from the brief 
specimens which we have of his capabilities, that 
he would have excelled in this species of composi- 
tion likewise. The subjects, however, on which 
he employed his pen appear to have had no inte- 
rest for the public at this period. Indeed, transla- 
tions from the Fathers were not likely at such a 
time to meet with many sympathizing readers. 
The world had been deluged by the Puritans with 
their weak and washy publications. Still their 
crude theology was that generally in vogue. Those 
who had been disposed to go up, and drink at the 
stream a little nearer to its source, had passed 
away with the exiled Cosins and Bramhalls of a 
former generation. The court party was soon to 
come back from France vitiated alike in taste and 
principles, and ready to make a jest of every thing 
religious. This, then, was not a time at which 
treatises, such as those now published by Henry 
Vaughan, were likely to become popular. They 
were accordingly never reprinted, and their very 
existence is almost unknown to ordinary English 
readers. The following verses close this little 
volume, of which the last thirty-four lines are very 
striking. 

ST. PAULINUS TO HIS WIFE THERASIA. 

" Come, my true consort in my joyes and care, 
Let this uncertaine and still wasting share 
Of our fraile life be given to God ! you see 
How the swift dayes drive hence incessantlie ; 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

And the fraile, drooping world, though still thought gay, 

In secret slow consumption weares away. 

All that we have passe from us, and, once past, 

Returne no more. Like clouds they seeme to last, 

And so delude loose greedy mindes. But where 

Are now those trim deceits ? To what dark sphere 

Are all those false fires sunk, which once so shined, 

They captivated soules and ruled mankind ? 

And what, Therasia, doth it us availe, 

That spatious streames shall flow and never faile, 

That aged forrests live to tyre the winds, 

And flowers each spring returne and keepe their kinds ? 

Those still remaine ; but all our fathers dyed, 

And we ourselves but for few dayes abide. 

This short tyme, then, was not given us in vaine, 
To whom tyme dyes, in which we dying gaine ; 
But that in tyme eternall life should be 
Our care, and endlesse rest our industrie. 
And yet this taske, which the rebellious deeme 
Too harsh, who God's mild lawes for chaines esteem, 
Suites with the meeke and harmlesse heart so right, 
That 'tis all ease, all comfort, and delight. 
* To love our God with all our strength and will ; 
To covet nothing; to devise no ill 
Against our neighbours ; to procure or doe 
Nothing to others which we would not to 
Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong; 
To be content with little ; not to long 
For wealth and greatnesse; to despise or jeare 
No man ; and, if we be despised, to bear : 
To feed the hungry ; to hold fast our crown ; 
To take from others nought to give our owne.' 
These are his precepts ; and, alas ! in these 
What is so hard but faith may doe with ease ? 
He that the holy prophets doth beleeve, 
And on God's words relies (words that still live, 
And cannot dye), that in his heart hath writ 
His Saviour's death and triumph; and doth yet, 
With constant care admitting no neglect, 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 23 

His second dreadfull coming still expect ; 

To such a liver, earthy things are dead; 

With heaven alone, and hopes of heaven, hee's fed. 

He is no vassall unto worldly trash, 

Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash, 

But doth defile ; a knowledge by which men 

With studied care lose Paradise again. 

Commands and titles, the vaine world's device, 

With gold, the forward seed of sin and vice, 

He never minds. His aynie is farre more high, 

And stoopes to nothing lower than the skye. 

Nor griefs nor pleasures breede him any pain: 

He nothing feares to lose; would nothing gaine. 

Whatever hath not God he doth detest. 

He lives to Christ ; is dead to all the rest. 

This Holy One, sent hither from above, 

A Virgin brought forth, shadowed by the Dove. 

A crown of thornes his blessed head did wound, 

Navies pierced his hands and feet: and he, fast bound, 

Stuck to the painfull crosse, where, hanged till dead, 

With a cold speare his heart's dear blood was shed. 

All this for man, for bad, ungratefull man, 

The true God suffered: not that suffering can 

Adde to his glory aught, who can receive 

Accesse from nothing; whom none can bereave 

Of his all-fulnesse : but the blest designe 

Of his sad death was to save me from mine. 

He dying bore my sins ; and, the third day, 

His early rising raised me from the clay. 

To such great mercies, what shall I preferre, 

Or who from loving God shall mee deterre ? 

Burne mee alive with curious, skilful! paine : 

Cut up and search each warme and breathing vein ; 

When all is done, death brings a quick release. 

And the poore mangled body sleepes in peace. 

Hale mee to prisons ; shut me up in brasse : 

My still free soule from thence to God shall passe. 

Banish or bind me ; I can be no where 

A stranger or alone: my God is there. 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OP 

I fear not famine. How can he be said 

To starve, who feedes upon the living bread ? 

And yet this courage springs not from my store : 

Christ gave it mee, who can give much, much more. 

I of myself can nothing dare or doe ; 

He bids mee fight, and makes mee conquer too. 

If, like great Abraham, I should have command 

To leave my father's house and native land, 

I would with joy to unknown regions run, 

Bearing the banner of his blessed Son. 

On worldly goods I will have no designe ; 

But use my owne, as if mine were not mine. 

Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatnesse seeke ; 

But chuse, though laughed at, to be poore and meake. 

In woe and wealth, I'll keepe the same stayed mind; 

Grief shall not breake me, nor joyes make me blind ! 

Then come, my faithfull consort, joyne with me 
In this good fight, and my true helper be ! 
Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray ; 
Let us be each the other's guide and stay. 
Be your Lord's guardian. Give joynt ayde and due; 
Helpe him when falne ; rise when he helpeth you. 
That so we may not onely one flesh bee, 
But in one spirit and one will agree ! " 

It would be gratifying to be able to state, that 
Henry Vaughan's poetry, replete as it is with 
beauty and originality, had met with a better 
reception than his prose. But we cannot in 
honesty say that this was the case. That he had 
his admirers among the discerning few, there can 
be no doubt. His friends at Oxford, more espe- 
cially, seem to have treasured up carefully every 
scrap of verse that fell from his pen. But with 
the public at large, and particularly with reference 
to his religious poetry, it was far otherwise. It 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 25 

might at first sight appear that his " Silex Scintil- 
lans " had at least found readers enough to carry it 
through a second edition. A volume so designated 
by the publisher was sent forth in the year 1655, 
containing all the poems printed in the year 1651, 
together with a second part, almost equal in extent 
to the former, and the whole preceded by a very 
interesting preface, full of just thoughts and pious 
sentiments. But, on closer inspection, it is evi- 
dent that we have here only the unsold copies of 
the volume before published, with the preface and 
second part added to them, and a new title pre- 
fixed to the whole. All this is discernible from the 
paging of this nominally second edition, and it 
speaks loudly of the neglect which the previous 
volume had experienced. The poems contained 
in this second part are in no respect inferior to 
those before published. Indeed, in some points, 
they present rather an improvement on them. 
They seem to exhibit more of Vaughan's own 
natural vein, and less of that of his excellent mas- 
ter. Preserving all the piety of George Herbert, 
they have less of his quaint and fantastic turns, 
with a much larger infusion of poetic feeling and 
expression. Their merits, however, seem to have 
been but ill appreciated by the tasteless and god- 
less generation for whom Yaughan wrote, and his 
little volume accordingly soon sank into oblivion. 
We learn from its contents that the author was 
still a sufferer, his body still labouring under the 



26 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

protracted illness that had attacked him five years 
before, and his heart bleeding from the further loss 
of beloved relatives and friends. 

It is scarcely to be wondered, that, under such 
discouraging circumstances, Henry Vaughan, in 
the prime of life and the full maturity of his 
talents, should have ceased from all further author- 
ship. Accordingly, during the forty years that he 
lived, after the second edition of his Silex, he gave 
nothing more to the public. In the year 1678, 
however, one of his zealous Oxford friends, J. W. 
(the initials have not been verified) sent forth a 
little volume, entitled, " Thalia Rediviva, the Pass- 
times and Diversions of a Countrey Muse," which, 
though it contains no reference to Henry Vaughan 
in the title-page, consists entirely of his poetry, 
together with a few of his brother Thomas's Latin 
verses appended. But, in this publication, Henry 
Vaughan took no part, though there is no reason 
to suppose that he was actually opposed to it. The 
contents are of a motley description, consisting of 
elegies, translations, addresses to individuals, and 
are evidently of the most various dates, some of 
them written in his youthful days at the Univer- 
sity, and others in his maturer years, subsequently, 
in all probability, to the publication of the " Silex 
Scintillans." The volume is ushered in by com- 
mendatory verses from " the matchless Orinda," 
Mrs. Catherine Philips, Dr. Thomas Powell, and 
other Oxford friends and admirers, and contains 



HENRY YAUGHAN. 27 

nothing which the most fastidious moralist could 
find fault with. At the close of the work is a 
collection of religious pieces, entitled, u Pious 
Thoughts and Ejaculations," the whole of which, 
together with a Pastoral Elegy on the death of 
Thomas Yaughan, we have included in the vo- 
lume now published, so that the whole of Henry 
Vaughan's religious poetry may stand at once 
before the reader. 

From the time of this last publication to that 
of his death, we have no further information to 
furnish respecting our author. He appears to have 
stolen away altogether from public life, to pursue 
his quiet walk with G06T, and enjoy the converse 
of such friends as were still left to him ; and found 
abundant scope for the exercise of his powers in 
the labours of a useful profession, and the educa- 
tion of his growing family. He was twice mar- 
ried, and had by his first wife five children, two 
sons and three daughters ; and by the second, one 
daughter. Of the latter alone is any thing further 
known. She married John Turberville ; and her 
granddaughter died single in 1780, aged 92. For 
himself, he had the satisfaction of closing his days 
under the roof and amidst the scenes where they 
had commenced. His beloved Usk, and the beau- 
tiful vale through which it flows, were daily before 
his eyes to the last, and probably afforded him 
many a poetic ramble, when his more serious avo- 
cations admitted of them. It would appear from 



28 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

one of his little Latin poems, that he was a fisher- 
man ; and the moral with which he accompanies a 
salmon of his own catching, sent as a present to 
a friend, would seem to imply that this amusement 
was occasionally pursued by him even in riper and 
more thoughtful years. But these little conjec- 
tural notices of his ordinary life and avocations 
must necessarily rest on very slender data. Much 
more satisfactory is it to know, that he died, as he 
lived, in holy consciousness of his own unworthi- 
ness, and in humble dependence on the merits of 
his Redeemer. He departed this life, April the 
23d, in the year 1695, aged seventy-three, and 
desired that the following inscription should be 
placed on his tomb : — 

" SERVUS INUTILIS, 

PECCATOR MAXIMUS, 

HIC JACEO. 

gloria! f miserere!" 

" An unprofitable servant, the chief of sinners, I lie hero. 

Glory be to God ! f Lord have mercy upon me!" 

Such are the particulars that we have been able 
to gather respecting Henry Vaughan and his 
works. They present a picture of one who lived 
to God rather than to man ; and, if there is little 
of incident in the details, let us remember, that it 
is with the lives of private individuals as with the 
reigns of princes : those are often the happiest and 
most prosperous which make the least noise and 
show in the page of history. The mind and heart 
of our author are abundantly exhibited in his 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 29 

writings, which are full of individuality ; and, while 
we would deprecate pledging ourselves to every 
sentiment they contain, we feel that they claim 
for him unvarying respect, and commend them- 
selves to us as the genuine overflowings of a sin- 
cere and humble spirit. We feel, while reading 
them, that we have to do with a truly good and 
earnest man. His poems dfSplay much originality 
of thought, and frequently likewise much felicity of 
expression. The former is, indeed, at times con- 
densed into obscurity, and the latter defaced with 
quaintness. But Vaughan never degenerates into 
a smooth versifier of commonplaces. One, indeed, 
of his great faults as a poet, is the attempt to 
crowd too much of matter into his sentences, so 
that they read roughly and inharmoniously, the 
words almost elbowing each other out of the lines. 
His rhymes, too, are frequently defective ; and he 
delights in making the sense of one line run over 
into the line following. This, when not overdone, 
is doubtless a beauty in versification, and redeems 
it from that monotony which so offends in the 
poets of Queen Anne's time. Yet even this may 
be pushed to excess, and become by its uniformity 
liable itself to the imputation of monotony. Take, 
for instance, the very beautiful lines of Vaughan 
entitled " Rules and Lessons," the first five stanzas 
of which strikingly exemplify the fault here spe- 
cified ; and it was perhaps their consequent harsh- 
ness that induced Bernard Barton to transpose 



30 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

them, not infelicitously, into # different stanza. A 
more favourable specimen of line flowing into line 
is the following morning address to a " Bird : " — 

" Hither thou com'st. The busie wind all night 
Blew through thy lodging ; where thy own warm wing 
Thy pillow was; and many a sullen storm, 
For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, 

Rained on t^dped, 

And harmless head ; 
And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light, 
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing! " 

This will be felt to be very tender and beautiful, 
notwithstanding the imperfect rhyme in the fourth 
line ; and the volume now republished is full of 
like passages. Indeed, it may with truth be said 
of Vaughan, that his faults are in a great measure 
those of the age he lived in, and the master he 
imitated, while his beauties are all his own. That 
he will ever become a thoroughly popular poet is 
scarcely to be expected in this age. But among 
those who can prize poetic thought, even when clad 
in a dress somewhat quaint and antiquated, who 
love to commune with a heart overflowing with 
religious ardour, and who do not value this the less 
because it has been lighted at the earlier and purer 
fires of Christianity, and has caught a portion of 
their youthful glow, poems like these of Henry 
Vaughan's will not want their readers, nor will 
such readers be unthankful to have our author and 
his works introduced to their acquaintance. 

Rome, April, 1847. H. F. L. 



THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



That this kingdom hath abounded with those 
ingenious persons which in the late notion are 
termed wits, is too well known, — many of them 
having cast away all their fair portion of time in 
no better imployments than a deliberate search 
or excogitation of idle words, and a most vain, 
insatiable desire to be reputed poets ; leaving be- 
hinde them no other monuments of those excellent 
abilities conferred upon them, but such as they 
may (with a predecessor of theirs) term parri- 
cides, and a soul-killing issue ; for that is the 
Bpapelov, and laureate crown, which idle poems will 
certainly bring to their unrelenting authors. 

And well it were for them, if those willingly 
studied and wilfully-published vanities could defile 
no spirits but their own ; but the case is far worse. 
These vipers survive their parents, and for many 
ages after (like epidemic diseases) infect whole 
generations, corrupting always and unhallowing 
the best-gifted souls and the most capable vessels ; 



32 PREFACE. 

for whose sanctification and wellfare the glorious 
Son of God laid down his life, and suffered the 
pretious blood of his blessed and innocent heart to 
be poured out. In the meantime it cannot be 
denyed but these men are had in remembrance, 
though we cannot say, with any comfort, their 
memorial is blessed ; for, that I may speak no more 
than the truth (let their passionate worshippers 
say what they please), all the commendations that 
can be justly given them will amount to no more 
than what Prudentius the Christian sacrdd poet 
bestowed upon Symmachus: — 

Os dignum aeterno tinctum quod fulgeat auro 
Si mallet laudare deum : cui sordida monstra 
Praetulit, et liquidam temeravit crimine vocem ; 
Haud aliter, quam cum rastris qui tentat eburnis 
Csenosum versare solum, &c. 

In English thus : 

A wit most worthy in tryed gold to shine, 
Immortal gold ! had he sung the divine 
Praise of his Maker; to whom he preferr'd 
Obscene, vile fancies, and prophanely marr'd 
A rich, rare stile with sinful, lewd contents ; 
No otherwise then if, with instruments 
Of polish' d ivory, some drudge should stir 
A dirty sink, &c. 

This comparison is nothing odious, and it is as 
true as it is apposite ; for a good wit in a bad sub- 
ject is, as Solomon said of the fair and foolish 
woman, " like a jewel of gold in a swine's snowt, 
Prov. xi. 22. Nay, the more acute the author is, 



PREFACE. 33 

there is so much the more danger and death in the 
work. Where the sun is busie upon a dunghill, 
the issue is always some unclean vermine. Divers 
persons of eminent piety and learning (I meddle 
not with the seditious and schismatical) have, long 
before my time, taken notice of this malady ; for 
the complaint against vitious verse, even by peace- 
ful and obedient spirits, is of some antiquity in this 
kingdom. And yet, as if the evil consequence 
attending this inveterate error were but a small 
thing, there is sprung very lately another pros- 
perous device to assist it in the subversion of 
souls. Those that want the genius of verse fall 
to translating ; and the people are every term 
plentifully furnished with various foraign vanities ; 
so that the most lascivious compositions of France 
and Italy are here naturalized and made English ; 
and this, as it is sadly observed, with so much 
favor and success, that nothing takes (as they 
rightly phrase it) like a romance. And very fre- 
quently, if that character be not an ivybush, the 
buyer receives this lewd ware from persons of 
honor; who want not reason to forbear, much 
private misfortune having sprung from no other 
seed at first, than some infectious and dissolving 
legend. 

To continue, after years of discretion, in this va- 
nity, is an inexcusable desertion of pious sobriety ; 
and to persist so to the end is a wilful despising 
of God's sacred exhortations, by a constant, sensual 

D 






34 PREFACE. 

volutation or wallowing in impure thoughts and 
scurrilous conceits, which both defile their authors, 
and as many more as they are communicated to. 
If every idle word shall be accounted for, and if no 
corrupt communication should proceed out of our 
mouths, how desperate, I beseech you, is their 
condition, who all their life-time, and out of meer 
design, study lascivious fictions, then carefully re- 
cord and publish them, that, instead of grace and 
life, they may minister sin and death unto their 
readers! It was wisely considered and piously 
said by one, " That he would read no idle books, 
both in regard of love to his own soul, and pity 
unto his that made them ; for," said he, " if I be 
corrupted by them, their composer is immediately 
a cause of my ill ; and at the day of reckoning, 
though now dead, must give an account for it, be- 
cause I am corrupted by his bad example, which 
he left behinde him. I will write none, lest I hurt 
them that come after me ; I will read none, lest I 
augment his punishment that is gone before me. 
I will neither write nor read, lest I prove a foe to 
my own soul : while I live, I sin too much ; let me 
not continue longer in wickedness than I do in 
life." It is a sentence of sacred authority, that 
" he that is dead is freed from sin ; " because he 
cannot in that state, which is without the body, sin 
any more ; but he that writes idle books makes for 
himself another body, in which he always lives, 
and sins after death as fast and as foul as ever 



PREFACE. 35 

he did in bis life; which very consideration de- 
serves to be a sufficient antidote against this evil 
disease. 

And here, because I would prevent a just censure 
by my free confession, I must remember, that I 
myself have, for many years together, languished 
of this very sickness ; and it is no long time since 
I have recovered. But, blessed be God for it ! 
I have by his saving assistance supprest my great- 
est follies, and those which escaped from me are, 
I think, as innoxious as most of that vein use to 
be ; besides, they are interlined with many virtuous 
and some pious mixtures. What I speak of them 
is truth ; but let no man mistake it for an exte- 
nuation of faults, as if I intended an apology for 
them, or myself, who am conscious of so much 
guilt in both as can never be expiated without 
special sorrows, and that cleansing and pretious 
effusion of my Almighty Eedeemer. And if the 
world will be so charitable as to grant my request, 
I do here most humbly and earnestly beg that 
none would read them. 

But an idle or sensual subject is not all the 
poyson in these pamphlets. Certain authors have 
been so irreverendly bold as to dash Scriptures 
and the sacred relatives of God with their impious 
conceits ; and (which I cannot speak without grief 
of heart) some of those desperate adventurers may, 
I think, be reckoned amongst the principal or most 
learned writers of English verse. 



36 PREFACE. 

Others of a later date, being corrupted, it may 
be, by that evil genius which came in with the 
publique distractions, have stuffed their books with 
oathes, horrid execrations, and a most gross and 
studied filthiness. But the hurt that ensues by 
the publication of pieces so notoriously ill lies 
heavily upon the stationer's account, who ought in 
conscience to refuse them, when they are put into 
his hands. No loss is so doleful as that gain that 
will endamage the soul. He that prints lewdness 
and impieties is that madman in the Proverbs, 
who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death. 

The suppression of this pleasing and prevailing 
evil lies not altogether in the power of the magis- 
trate ; for it will flie abroad in manuscripts, when 
it fails of entertainment at the press. The true 
remedy lies wholly in their bosoms who are the 
gifted persons, by a wise exchange of vain and 
vitious subjects for divine themes and celestial 
praise. The performance is easie, and, were it the 
most difficult in the world, the reward is so glo- 
rious that it infinitely transcends it; for "they 
that turn many to righteousness shall shine like 
the stars for ever and ever : " whence follows this 
undenyable inference, that, the corrupting of many 
being a contrary work, the recompense must be so 
too ; and then I know nothing reserved for them 
but "the blackness of darkness for ever;" from 
which, O God, deliver all penitent and reformed 
spirits ! 



PREFACE. 37 

The first, that with any effectual success at- 
tempted a diversion of this foul and overflowing 
stream, was the blessed man, Mr. George Herbert, 
whose holy life and verse gained many pious 
converts, of whom I am the least ; and gave the 
first check to a most flourishing and admired wit 
of his time. After him followed diverse, — sed 
non passibus cequis : they had more of fashion 
than of force. And the reason of their so vast 
distance from him, besides differing spirits and 
qualifications (for his measure was eminent), I 
suspect to be, because they aimed more at verse 
than perfection, as may be easily gathered by 
their frequent impressions and numerous pages. 
Hence sprang those wide, those weak and lean 
conceptions, which in the most inclinable reader 
will scarce give any nourishment or help to devo- 
tion ; for not flowing from a true, practick piety, 
it was impossible they should effect those things 
abroad which they never had acquaintance with at 
home ; being onely the productions of a common 
spirit, and the obvious ebullitions of that light 
humor, which takes the pen in hand, cut of no 
other consideration than to be seen in print. It is 
true, indeed, that to give up our thoughts to pious 
themes and contemplations, if it be done for pietie's 
sake, is a great step towards perfection ; because 
it will refine, and dispose to devotion and sanctity. 
And further, it will procure for us (so easily 
communicable is that loving Spirit) some small 



38 PREFACE. 

prelibation of those heavenly refreshments, which 
descend but seldom, and then very sparingly, upon 
men of an ordinary or indifferent holyness. But 
he that desires to excel in this kinde of Hagio- 
graphy, or holy writing, must strive by all means 
for perfection and true holyness, " that a door may 
be opened to him in heaven, " Rev. iv. 1 ; and then 
he will be able to write, with Hierotheus and holy 
Herbert, " a true hymn." 

To effect this in some measure, I have begged 
leave to communicate this my poor talent to the 
church, under the protection and conduct of her 
glorious Head ; who, if he will vouchsafe to own it, 
and go along with it, can make it as useful now in 
the publick as it hath been to me in private. In 
the perusal of it, you will, peradventure, observe 
some passages, whose history or reason may seem 
something remote ; but were they brought nearer, 
and plainly exposed to your view, though that per- 
haps might quiet your curiosity, yet would it not 
conduce much to your greater advantage. And 
therefore I must desire you to accept of them in 
that latitude which is already allowed them. By 
the last poems in the book, were not that mistake 
here prevented, you would judge all to be father- 
less, and the edition posthume ; for indeed I was 
nigh unto death, and am still at no great distance 
from it ; which was the necessary reason for that 
solemn and accomplished dress you will finde this 
impression in. 



PREFACE. 39 

But the God of the spirits of all flesh hath 
granted me a further use of mine than I did look 
for in the body ; and when I expected, and had by 
his assistance prepared for, a message of death, 
then did he answer me with life ; I hope to his 
glory, and my great advantage ; that I may flour- 
ish not with leafe onely, but with some fruit also ; 
which hope and earnest desire of his poor creature, 
I humbly beseech him to perfect and fulfil for his 
dear Son's sake, unto whom, with him and the 
most holy and loving Spirit, be ascribed by angels, 
by men, and by all his works, all glory, and wis- 
dom, and dominion, in this the temporal and in the 
eternal being. Amen. 

Newton by Usk, near Sketh-Rock, 
Septem. 30, 1654. 



41 



Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake 
thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from 
thee shall be written in the earth, because they have 
forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters. 

Heal me, Lord, and I shall be healed; save 
me, and I shall be saved; for thou art my health, 
and my great deliverer. 

I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to 
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived myself of 
the residue of my years. 

I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in 
the land of the living : I shall behold man no more 
with the inhabitants of the world. 

Lord, by thee doth man live, and from thee is 
the life of my spirit : therefore wilt thou recover 
me, and make me to live. 

Thou hast, in love to my soul, delivered it from 
the pit of corruption ; for thou hast cast all my sins 
behind thy back. 



42 

For thy name's sake hast thou put off thine anger ; 
for thy praise hast thou refrained from me, that 1 
should not be cut off. 

For the grave cannot praise thee, death cannot 
celebrate thee ; they that go down into the pit can- 
not hope for thy truth. 

The living, the living, he shall praise thee, as I 
do this day ; the father to the children shall make 
known thy truth. 

Lord, thou hast been merciful; thou hast 
brought back my life from corruption ; thou hast 
redeemed me from my sin. 

They that follow after lying vanities forsake their 
own mercy. 

Therefore shall thy songs be with me, and my 
prayer unto the God of my life. 

1 will go unto the altar of my God, unto God 
the joy of my youth ; and in thy fear will I wor- 
ship towards thy holy temple. 

I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanks- 
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed: sal- 
vation is of the Lord. 



MY MOST MERCIFUL, MY MOST LOVING, AND 
DEARLY LOVED REDEEMER, 

THE EVER-BLESSED, THE ONELY HOLY AND JUST ONE, 

JESUS CHRIST, 

THE SON OF THE LIVING GOD, AND THE SACRED VIRGIN MARY- 



My God ! thou that didst dye for me, 

These thy death's fruits I offer thee ; 

Death, that to me was life and light, 

But dark and deep pangs to thy sight. 

Some drops of thy all-quickning blood 

Fell on my heart ; those made it bud, 

And put forth thus, though, Lord, before 

The ground was curst, and void of store. 

Indeed, I had some here to hire 

Which long resisted thy desire ; 

That ston'd thy servants, and did move 

To have thee murthred for thy love : 

But, Lord, I have expell'd them ; and so bent, 

Beg thou wouldst take thy tenant's rent. 



44 DEDICATION. 

II. 

Dear Lord, 'tis finished ! and now he 

That copyed it, presents it thee. 

'Twas thine first, and to thee returns ; 

From thee it shined, though here it burns : 

If the sun rise on rocks, is't right 

To call it their inherent light ? 

No, nor can I say, this is mine ; 

For, dearest Jesus, 'tis all thine. 

Thy cloaths, when thou with cloaths wert clad, 

Both light from thee and virtue had ; 

And now, as then within this place, 

Thou to poor rags dost still give grace. 

This is the earnest thy love sheds, 

The candle shining on some heads ; 

Till at thy charges they shall be 

Cloath'd all with immortality. 

My dear Redeemer, the world's light, 

And life too, and my heart's delight ! 

For all thy mercies and thy truth 

Shew'd to me in my sinful youth ; 

For my sad failings, and my wilde 

Murmurings at thee, when most milde ; 

For all my secret faults, and each 

Frequent relapse and wilful breach ; 

For all designs meant against thee, 

And ev'ry publish'd vanity, 

Which thou divinely hast forgiven, 

While thy blood wash'd me white as heaven : 



DEDICATION. 45 

I nothing have to give to thee, 
But this thy own gift, given to me. 
Refuse it not ! for now thy token 
Can tell thee where a heart is broken. 

Kev. i. 5—7. 

Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own 
blood, 

And hath made us Mngs and priests unto God and his Father ; 
to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. 

Behold, he cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see him, and 
they also which pierced him ; and all kindreds of the earth shall 
wail because of him: even so. Amen. 



t Vain wits and eyes, 
Leave, and be wise ; 
Abuse not, shun not holy fire, 
But with true tears wash off your mire. 
Tears and these flames will soon grow kinde, 
And mix an eye-salve for the blinde. 
Tears cleanse and supple without fail, 
And fire will purge your callous veyl. 
Then comes the light ! which when you spy, 
And see your nakedness thereby, 
Praise him who dealt his gifts so free, 
In tears to you, in fire to me. 



AXTTHORIS (DE SE) EMBLEMA. 



Tentasti, fateor, sine vulnere saepius, et me 

Consultum voluit Vox, sine voce, frequens ; 
Ambivit placido divinior aura meatu, 

Et frustra sancto murmure prsemonuit. 
Surdus eram, mutusque Silex : Tu (quanta tuorum 

Gura tibi est !) alia das renovare via ; 
Permutas curam : jamque irritatus Amor em 

Posse negas, et vim, Vi, superare paras ; 
Accedis propior, molemque, et Saxea rumpis 

Pectora, fitque Garo, quod fuit ante Lapis. 
En lacerum ! Coelosque tuos ardentia tandem 

Fragmenta, et liquidas ex Jtdamante genas ! 
Sic olim undantes Petras, Scopulosque vomentes 

Gurasti, populi providus usque tui ! 
Quam miranda tibi manus est ! Mbriendo, revixi ; 

Et fractas jam sum ditior inter opes. 

E 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 



PART I. 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 



REGENERATION. 

I. 
A ward, and still in bonds, one day 

I stole abroad : 
It was high-spring, and all the way 
Primrosed, and hung with shade ; 
Yet was it frost within ; 
The surly wind 
Blasted my infant-buds, and sinne 
Like clouds ecclipsed my mind, 
ii. 
Storm'd thus ; I straight perceiv'd my spring 

Meere stage and show, 
My walke a monstrous, mountain'd thing 
Rough-cast with rocks and snow ; 
And as a pilgrim's eye, 
Far from reliefe, 
Measures the melancholy skye, 

Then drops, and rains for griefe, 



54 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

III. 

So sigh'd I upwards still : at last, 

'Twixt steps and falls, 
I reach'd the pinacle, where plac'd 
I found a paire of scales ; 
I took them up, and layd 
In th' one late paines ; 
The other smoake and pleasures weigh'd, 
But prov'd the heavier graines. 

IV. 

With that some cryed, " Away ! " straight I 

Obey'd, and led 
Full east, a faire, fresh field could spy : 
Some call'd it Jacob's Bed ; 
A virgin soile, which no 
Rude feet ere trod ; 
Where, since he stept there, only go 
Prophets and friends of God. 
v. 
Here I repos'd ; but scarce well set 

A grove des cryed 
Of stately height, whose branches met 
And mixt on every side : 
I entred, and once in, 
Amaz'd to see't, 
Found all was chang'd, and a new spring 
Did all my senses greet. 

VI. 

The unthrift sunne shot vitall gold 
A thousand peeces, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 55 

And heaven its azure did unfold, 

Chequer'd with snowie fleeces. 

The aire was all in spice, 

And every bush 

A garland wore : thus fed my eyes, 

But all the eare lay hush. 

VII. 

Only a little fountain lent 

Some use for eares, 
And on the dumbe shades language spent, 
The musick of her teares : 
I drew her neere, and found 
The cisterne full 
Of divers stones, some bright and round, 
Others ill-shap'd and dull. 

VIII. 

The first (pray, marke !) as quick as light 

Danc'd through the floud ; 
But th' last, more heavy than the night, 
Nail'd to the centre stood : 
I wonder'd much, but, tyr'd 
At last with thought, 
My restless eye, that still desir'd, 
As strange an object brought. 

IX. 

It was a banke of flowers, where I descried 

(Though 'twas mid-day) 
Some fast asleepe, others broad-eyed, 
And taking in the ray : 



56 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Here musing long I heard 

A rushing wind, 

Which still increas'd ; but whence it stirr'd, 

No where I could not find. 

x. 

I turn'd me round, and to each shade 

Dispatch'd an eye, 
To see if any leafe had made 
Least motion or reply ; 
But, while I listning sought 
My mind to ease 
By knowing where 'twas, or where not, 
It whisper'd, " Where I please." 

" Lord," then said I, " on me one breath, 
And let me dye before my death ! " 

Cant. v. 17. 

Arise, north, and come,, thou south wind, and blow upon my 
garden that the spices thereof may flow out. 



DEATH. — A DIALOGUE. 

SOULE. 

'Tis a sad land, that in one day 

Hath dulPd thee thus, when death shall freeze 

Thy bloud to ice, and thou must stay 

Tenant for yeares and centuries : 

How wilt thou brook't ? 



OR SACRED POE&S. 57 



I cannot tell ; 
But if all sence wings not with thee, 
And something still be left the dead, 
Tie wish my curtaines off, to free 
Me from so darke and sad a bed ; 

A nest of nights, a gloomie sphere, 
Where shadowes thicken, and the cloud 
Sits on the sun's brow all the yeare, 
And nothing moves without a shrowd. 



'Tis so ; but, as thou sawest that night 
Wee travelTd in, our first attempts 
Were dull and blind ; but custome straight 
Our fears and falls brought to contempt. 

Then, when the ghastly twelve was past, 
We breath'd still for a blushing east ; 
And bad the lazie sunne make haste, 
And on sure hopes, though long, did feast. 

But when we saw the clouds to crack, 
And in those cranies light appear'd, 
We thought the day then was not slack, 
And pleas'd ourselves with what wee fear'd. 

Just so it is in death. But thou 
Shalt in thy mother's bosome sleepe, 



58 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Whilst I each minute grone to know 
How neere redemption creepes. 

Then shall wee meet to mixe again, and met, 
'Tis last good-night ; our sunne shall never set. 






Job x. 21, 22. 

Before I goe whence 1 shall not returne, even to the land of 
darJcnesse, and the shadow of death; 

A land of darJcnesse, as darlcnesse itself e, and of the shadow 
of death, without any order, and where the light is as darknesse. 



RESURRECTION AND IMMORTALITY. 

Heb. x. 20. 

By that new and living way which he hath prepared for us, through 
the veile, which is his flesh. 



Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath, 

That binds and loosens death, 
Inspir'd a quickning power through the dead 
Creatures abed, 
Some drowsie silk-worme creepe 
From that long sleepe, 
And in weake, infant hummings chime, and knell 

About her silent cell, 
Until at last full with the vitall ray 
She wing'd away, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 59 

/ 

And proud with life and sence, 
Heaven's rich expence, 
Esteem'd (vaine things !) of two whole elements 

As meane, and span-extents. 
Shall I then thinke such providence will be 
Lesse friend to me ; 
Or that he can endure to be unjust 
Who keeps his covenant even with our dust ? 



ii. 

Poore, querulous handfull ! was't for this 

I taught thee all that is ? 
Unbowel'd nature shew'd thee her recruits, 
And change of suits, 
And how of death we make 
A meere mistake ; 
For no thing can to nothing fall, but still 

Incorporates by skill, 
And then returns, and from the wombe of things 
Such treasure brings, 
As Phenix-like renew'th 
Both life and youth ; 
For a preserving spirit doth still passe 

Untainted through this masse, 
Which doth resolve, produce, and ripen all 
That to it fall; 
Nor are those births, which we 
Thus suffering see, 



60 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Destroyed at all ; but when time's restless wave 

Their substance doth deprave, 
And the more noble essence finds his house 
Sickly and loose, 
He, ever young, doth wing 
Unto that spring, 
And source of spirits, where he takes his lot, 

Till time no more shall rot 
His passive cottage ; which (though laid aside), 

Like some spruce bride, 
Shall one day rise, and cloath'd with shining light 
All pure and bright, 
Re-marry to the soule, for 'tis most plaine 
Thou only fal'st to be refin'd againe. 

in. 
Then I that here saw darkly in a glasse 

But mists and shadows passe, [springs 

And, by their owne weake shine, did search the 
And course of things, 
Shall with inlightned rayes 
Pierce all their wayes ; 
And as thou saw'st, I in a thought could goe 

To heav'n or earth below 
To reade some starre or min'rall, and in state 
There often sate ; 
So shalt thou then with me, 
Both wing'd and free, 
Rove in that mighty and eternall light, 
Where no rude shade or night 



OR SACRED POEMS. 61 

Shall dare approach us ; we shall there no more 
Watch stars, or pore 
Through melancholly clouds, and say, 
" Would it were day ! " 
One everlasting saboth there shall runne 
Without succession, and without a sunne. 

Dan. xii. 13. 

But goe thou thy way untill the end be; for thou shalt rest, and 
stand up in thy lot at the end of the dayes. 



DAY OF JUDGEMENT. 

When through the north a fire shall rush 

And rowle into the east, 
And like a firie torrent brush 

And sweepe up south and west, — 

When all shall streame and lighten round, 
And with surprizing flames 

Both stars and elements confound, 

And quite blot out their names, — 

When thou shalt spend thy sacred store 

Of thunders in that heate, 
And low as ere they lay before 

Thy six-dayes' building beate, — 



62 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

When like a scrowle the heavens shall passe 

And vanish cleane away, 
And nought must stand of that vast space 

Which held up night and day, — 

When one lowd blast shall rend the deepe, 
And from the wombe of earth 

Summon up all that are asleepe 
Unto a second birth, — 

When thou shalt make the clouds thy seate, 

And in the open aire 
The quick and dead, both small and great, 

Must to thy barre repaire ; 

O then it will be all too late 

To say, " What shall I doe ? " 

Repentance there is out of date, 
And so is mercy too. 



Prepare, prepare me then, O God ! 

And let me now begin 
To feele my loving Father's rod 

Killing the man of sinne ! 

Give me, O give me crosses here, 
Still more afflictions lend ! 

That pill, though bitter, is most deare 
That brings health to the end. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 63 

Lord, God ! I beg nor friends nor wealth, 

But pray against them both ; 
Three things Tde have, my soule's chief health, 

And one of these semes loath, 

A living faith, a heart of flesh, 

The world an enemie : 
This last will keepe the first two fresh, 

And bring me where I'de be. 

1 Pet. iv. 7. 

The end of all things is at hand; be ye therefore sober, 

and watch unto prayer. 



RELIGION. 

My God, when I walke in those groves 
And leaves thy Spirit doth still fan, 
I see in each shade that there growes 
An angell talking with a man. 

Under a juniper some house, 
Or the coole mirtle's canopie, 
Others beneath an oake's green boughs, 
Or at some fountaine's bubling eye. 

Here Jacob dreames and wrestles ; there 
Elias is by ravens fed, 
Another time by th' angell, where 
He brings him water with his bread. 



64 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In Abraham's tent the winged guests 
(0 how familiar then was heaven !) 
Eate, drinke, discourse, sit downe, and rest 
Untill the coole and shady even. 

Nay thou thyselfe, my God, in fire, 
Whirlewinds, and clouds, and the soft voice, 
Speak'st there so much, that I admire 
We have no conference in these daies. 

Is the truce broke ? or 'cause we have 
A Mediatour now with thee, 
Dost thou therefore old treaties wave, 
And by appeales from him decree ? 

Or is't so, as some green heads say, 
That now all miracles must cease ? 
Though thou hast promis'd they should stay, 
The tokens of the church, and peace. 

No, no : Religion is a spring, 
That from some secret, golden mine 
Derives her birth, and thence doth bring 
Cordials in every drop, and wine. 

But, in her long and hidden course, 
In passing through the earth's darke veines, 
Growes still from better unto worse, 
And both her taste and colour staines ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 65 

Then drilling on learnes to encrease 
False ecchoes and confused sounds, 
And unawares doth often seize 
On veines of sulphur under ground ; 

So poison'd breaks forth in some clime, 
And at first sight doth many please ; 
But drunk, is puddle or meere slime, 
And 'stead of phisick, a disease. 

Just such a tainted sink we have, 
Like that Samaritan's dead well ; 
For must we for the kernell crave, 
Because most voices like the shell ? 

Heale then these waters, Lord ; or bring thy flock, 
Since these are troubled, to the springing rock ; 
Looke downe, great Master of the feast ; shine, 
And turn once more our water into wine ! 

Cant. iv. 12. 

My sister, my spouse is as a garden inclosed, as ct spring shut up, 
and a fountain sealed. 



THE SEARCH. 

'Tis now cleare day : I see a rose 
Bud in the bright east, and disclose 
The pilgrim-sunne ; all night have I 
Spent in a roving ecstasie 

F 



66 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

To find my Saviour ; I have been 
As far as Bethlem, and have seen 
His inne and cradle ; being there, 
I met the wise men, askt them where 
He might be found, or what starre can 
Now point him out, grown up a man ? 
To Egypt hence I fled, ran o're 
All her parcht bosome to Nile's shore, 
Her yearly nurse ; came back, enquir'd 
Amongst the doctors, and desir'd 
To see the Temple, but was shown 
A little dust, and for the town 
A heap of ashes, where some sed 
A small bright sparkle was a bed, 
Which would one day beneath the pole 
Awake, and then refine the whole. 

Tyr'd here, I came to Sychar ; thence 
To Jacob's well, bequeathed since 
Unto his sonnes, where often they 
In those calme, golden evenings lay 
Watring their flocks, and having spent 
Those white dayes, drove home to the tent 
Their well-fleeced traine ; and here (0 fate !) 
I sit where once my Saviour sate. 
The angry spring in bubbles swell'd, 
Which broke in sighes still, as they fill'd, 
And whisper'd, " Jesus had been there, 
But Jacob's children would not heare." 
Loath hence to part, at last I rise, 
But with the fountain in mine eyes ; 






OR SACRED POEMS. 67 

And here a fresh search is decreed : 

He must be found where he did bleed. 

I walke the garden, and there see 

Idaeas of his agonie, 

And moving anguishments, that set 

His blest face in a bloudy sweat : 

I climb'd the hill, perus'd the crosse, 

Hung with my game, and his great losse : 

Never did tree beare fruit like this, 

Balsam of soules, the bodye's blisse. 

But his grave ! where I saw lent 

(For he had none) a monument, 

An undefiTd, a new-hew'd one, 

But there was not the Corner-stone. 

Sure then, said I, my quest is vaine, 

Hee'le not be found where he was slaine ; 

So mild a Lamb can never be 

'Midst so much bloud and crueltie. 

Tie to the wilderness, and can 

Find beasts more mercifull than man ; 

He liv'd there safe, 'twas his retreat 

From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat ; 

And forty dayes withstood the fell 

And high temptations of hell ; 

With seraphins there talked he, 

His Father's flaming ministrie ; 

He heav'nd their walks, and with his eyes 

Made those wild shades a paradise. 

Thus was the desert sanctified 

To be the refuge of his bride. 



68 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

I'le thither then ; see, it is day ! 

The sun's broke through to guide my way. 

But as I urg'd thus, and writ down 
What pleasures should my journey crown, 
What silent paths, what shades and cells, 
Faire virgin-flowers and hallow'd wells, 
I should rove in, and rest my head 
Where my deare Lord did often tread, 
Sugring all dangers with successe, 
Methought I heard one singing thus : 

i. 
Leave, leave thy gadding thoughts : 
Who pores 
and spies 
Still out of doores, 

Descries 
Within them nought. 
ii. 
The skinne and shell of things, 
Though faire, 
are not 
Thy wish nor pray'r, 

but got 
By meere despaire 
of wings. 

in. 
To rack old elements, 
Or dust ; 
and say, 

i 



OR SACRED POEMS. 69 

Sure here he must 

needs stay, 
Is not the way, 

nor just. 

Search well another world : who studies this, 
Travels in clouds, seekes manna where none is. 

Acts xvii. 27, 28. 

That they should seehe the Lord, if haply they might feele after 
him, and find him, though he be not far off from every one of us ; 
for in him we live, and move, and have our being. 



ISAAC'S MARRIAGE. 

Gen. xxiv. 63. 

And Isaac went out to pray in the field at the even-tide ; and he lift 
up his eyes, and saw, and behold, the camels were comming. 

Praying ! and to be married ! It was rare 
But now 'tis monstrous ; and that pious care, 
Though of ourselves, is so much out of date, 
That to renew't were to degenerate. 
'But thou a chosen sacrifice wert given, 
And offer'd up so early unto Heaven, 
Thy flames could not be out ; religion was 
Ray'd into thee like beames into a glasse, 
Where, as thou grewst, it multiply'd, and shin'd 
The, sacred constellation of thy mind. 

But being for a bride, sure, prayer was 
Very strange stuffe wherewith to court thy lasse : 



70 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Had'st ne'r an oath nor complement ? Thou wert 
An odde, coarse sutor : hadst thou but the art 
Of these our dayes, thou couldst have coyn'd thee 

twenty 
New sev'rall oathes, and complements too plenty. 
O sad and wild excesse ! and happy those 
White dayes, that durst no impious mirth expose ! 
When sinne, by sinning oft, had not lost sence, 
Nor bold-fac'd custome banish'd innocence ! 
Thou hadst no pompous traine, nor antick crowd 
Of young, gay swearers, with their needless, lowd 
Retinue ; all was here smooth as thy bride, 
And calme like her, or that mild evening-tide. 
Yet hadst thou nobler guests : angels did wind 
And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind ; 
These fetch'd thee home thy bride, and* all the 

way 
Advis'd thy servant what to doe and say ; 
These taught him at the well, and thither brought 
The chaste and lovely object of thy thought. 
But here was ne'r a complement, not one 
Spruce, supple cringe, or study'd looke put on. 
All was plaine, modest truth : nor did she come 
In rowles and curies, mincing and stately dumbe ; 
But in a frighted, virgin-blush approach'd 
Fresh as the morning, when 'tis newly coach'd. 
O sweet, divine simplicity ! O grace 
Beyond a curled lock or painted face ! 
A pitcher too she had, nor thought it much 
To carry that, which some would scorn to touch ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 71 

With which in mild, chaste language she did wooe 
To draw him drinke, and for his camels too. 

And now thou knewst her comming, it was time 
To get thee wings on, and devoutly climbe 
Unto thy God ; for marriage of all states 
Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates. 
This brought thee forth, where now thou didst 

undresse 
Thy soule, and with new pinions refresh 
Her wearied wings, which so restored did flye 
Above the stars, a track unknown and high ; 
And in her piercing flight perfum'd the ayre, 
Scattering the myrrhe and incense of thy pray'r. 
So from * Lahai-roi's well some spicie cloud, 
Woo'd by the sun, swels up to be his shrowd, 
And from her moist wombe weeps a fragant showre, 
Which,, scatter'd in a thousand pearls, each flowre 
. And herb partakes ; where having stood awhile 
And something coold the parch'd and thirstie isle, 
The thankfull earth unlocks herselfe, and blends 
A thousand odours, which, all mixt, she sends 
Up in one cloud, and so returnes the skies 
That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice. 

Thus soar'd thy soul, who, though young, didst 

inherit 
Together with his bloud thy father's spirit, 
Whose active zeale and tryed faith were to thee 
Familiar ever since thy infancie. 

* A wel in the south country where Jacob dwelt, betweene 
Cadish and Bered. Heb. the wel of him that liveih and seeth me, 



72 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Others were tym'd and train'd up to't, but thou 
Didst thy swift years in piety out-grow. 
Age made them rev'rend, and a snowie head ; 
But thou wert so, e're time his snow could shed. 
Then who would truly limne thee out, must paint 
First a young patriarch, then a marry'd saint. 



THE BEITTISH CHURCH. 

I. 

Ah ! he is fled ! 
And while these here their mists and shadows hatch, 

My glorious Head 
Doth on those hills of myrrhe and incense watch. 

Haste, haste, my deare ! 

The souldiers here 
Cast in their lotts againe. 

That seamless coat, 

The Iewes touch'd not, 
These dare divide and staine. 
ii. 

O get thee wings ! 
Or if as yet, untill these clouds depart, 

And the day springs, 
Thou think'st it good to tarry where thou art, 

Write in thy bookes 

My ravish'd looks, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 73 

Slain flock and pillag'd fleeces, 

And haste thee so 

As a young roe 
Upon the mounts of spices. 

rosa campil lilium convallium! quomodo nunc facta es 
pabulum aprorum ! 



THE LAMPE. 

'Tis dead night round about : horrour doth creepe 
And move on with the shades ; stars nod and sleepe, 
And through the dark aire spin a firie thread, 
Such as doth gild the lazie glow-worm's bed. 

Yet burn'st thou here a full day, while I spend 
My rest in cares, and to the dark world lend 
These flames, as thou dost thine to me ; I watch 
That houre, which must thy life and mine dispatch. 
But still thou doest out-goe me, I can see 
Met in thy flames all acts of piety ; 
Thy light is charity ; thy heat is zeale ; 
And thy aspiring, active fires reveale 
Devotion still on wing ; then thou dost weepe 
Still as thou burn'st, and the warme droppings 

creepe 
To measure out thy length, as if thou'dst know 
What stock and how much time were left thee now ; 
Nor dost thou spend one teare in vain, for still 
As thou dissolv'st to them, and they distill, 



74 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

They're stor'd up in the socket, where they lye, 
When all is spent, thy last and sure supply : 
And such is true repentance ; §v'ry breath 
Wee spend in sighes is treasure after death. 
Only one point escapes thee ; that thy oile 
Is still out with thy flame, and so both faile : 
But whensoe're I'm out, both shal be in ; 
And where thou mad'st an end, there Tie begin. 

Mark xiii. 35. 
Watch you, therefore ; for you know not when the master of the 
house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in 
the morning. 



MAN'S FALL AND RECOVERY. 

Farewell, you everlasting hills ! I'm cast 
Here under clouds, where stormes and tempests 

This sully'd flowre, [blast 

Rob'd of your calme, nor can I ever make, 
Transplanted thus, one leafe of his t'awake ; 

But ev'ry houre 
He sleepes and droops ; and in this drowsie state 
Leaves me a slave to passions and my fate. 

Besides I've lost 
A traine of lights, which in those sunshine dayes 
Were my sure guides, and only with me stayes, 

Unto my cost, 
One sullen beame, whose charge is to dispense 
More punishment than knowledge to my sense. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 75 

Two thousand yeares 
I sojourn'C thus. At last Jeshurun's king 
Those famous tables did from Sinai bring. 

These swell'd my feares, 
Guilts, trespasses, and all this inward awe ; 
For sinne tooke strength and vigour from the law. 

Yet have I found 
A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One !) 
To cancell all that e're was writ in stone. § 

His saving wound 
Wept bloud, that broke this adamant, and gave 
To sinners confidence, life to the grave. 

This makes me span 
My fathers' journeys, and in one faire step 
O're all their pilgrimage and labours leap. 

For God, made man, 
Reduc'd th' extent of works of faith ; so made 
Of their Red Sea a spring ; I wash, theyi wade. 

Rom. xviii. 19. 

As, by the offence of one, the fault came on all men to condem- 
nation ; so, by the righteousness of one, the benefit abounded towards 
all men to the justification of life. 



THE SHOWRE. 

I. 
'Twas so ; I saw thy birth. That drowsie lake 
,From her faint bosome breath'd thee, the disease 
Of her sick waters, and infectious ease. 



76 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But now at even, r 

Too grosse for heaven, 
Thou fall'st in teares, and weep'st for thy mistake. 

ii. 
Mi ! it is so with me ; oft have I prest 
Heaven with a lazie breath ; but fruitles this 
Peirc'd not ; love only can with quick accesse 

Unlock the way, 

When all else stray, 
The smoke and exhalations of the brest. 

in. 
Yet if, as thou doest melt, and with thy traine 
Of drops make soft the earth, my eyes could weep 
O're my hard heart, that's bound up and asleep ; 

Perhaps at last, 

Some such showres past, 
My God would give a sunshine after raine. 



DISTRACTION. 

O knit me, that am crumbled dust ! the heape 
Is all dispers'd and cheape ; 
Give for a handfull but a thought, 
And it is bought. 
Hadst thou 
Made me a starre, a pearle, or a rainbow, 
The beames I then had shot 
My light had lessend not ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 77 

But now 
I find myselfe the lesse, the more I grow. 

The world 
Is full of voices ; man is call'd, and hurl'd 
By each ; he answers all, 
Knows ev'ry note and call ; 
Hence still 
Fresh dotage tempts, or old usurps his will. 
Yet hadst thou dipt my wings, when coffin'd in 
This quicken'd masse of sinne, 
And saved that light which freely thou 
Didst then bestow, 
I feare 
I should have spurn'd, and said thou didst forbeare, 
Or that thy store was lesse. 
But now since thou didst blesse 
So much, 
I grieve, my God ! that thou hast made me such. 

I grieve ? 
O, yes ! thou know'st I doe ; come, and releive, 
And tame, and keepe downe with thy light, 
Dust that would rise and dimme my sight ! 
Lest, left alone too long 
Amidst the noise and throng, 
Oppressed I, 
Striving to save the whole, by parcells dye. 



78 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

THE PURSUITE. 

Lord ! what a busie, restless thing 

Hast thou made man ! 
Each day and houre he is on wing, 

Rests not a span. 
Then having lost the sunne and light, 

By clouds surpriz'd, 
He keepes a commerce in the night 

With aire disguis'd. 
Hadst thou given to this active dust 

A state untir'd, 
The lost sonne had not left the huske, 

Nor home desir'd. 
That was thy secret, and it is 

Thy mercy too ; 
For when all failes to bring to blisse, 

Then this must doe. 
Ah, Lord ! and what a purchase will that be, 
To take us sick, that sound would not take thee ! 



MOUNT OF OLIVES. 

I. 
Sweete, sacred hill ! on whose fair brow 
My Saviour sate, shall I allow 

Language to love 
And idolize some shade or grove, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 79 

Neglecting thee ? Such ill-plae'd wit, 
Conceit, or call it what you please, 

Is the braine's fit, 

And meere disease. 
ii. 
Cotswold and Cooper's both have met 
With learned swaines, and eccho yet 

Their pipes and wit ; 
But thou sleep'st in a deepe neglect, 
Untouch'd by any ; and what need 
The sheep bleat thee a silly lay, 

That heard'st both reed ] 

And sheepward play ? 
in. 
Yet if poets mind thee well, 
They shall find thou art their hill, 

And fountaine too. 
Their Lord with thee had most to doe. 
He wept once, waked whole nights on thee : 
And from thence (his sufferings ended) 

Unto glorie 

Was attended. 

IY. 

Being there, this spacious ball 
Is but his narrow footstoole all ; 

And what we thinke 
Unsearchable, now with one winke 
He doth comprise. But in this aire 
When he did stay to beare our ill 

And sinne, this hill 

Was then his chaire. 



SO SILEX SC1NTILLANS, 



THE INCARNATION AND PASSION. 

Lord ! when thou didst thyselfe undresse, 
Laying by thy robes of glory, 
To make us more thou wouldst be lesse, 
And becam'st a wofull story. 

To put on clouds instead of light, 
And cloath the morning-starre with dust, 
Was a translation of such height 
As, but in thee, was ne'r exprest. 

Brave wormes and earth ! that thus could have 
A God enclos'd within your cell, 
Your Maker pent up in a grave, 
Life lockt in death, heav'n in a shell ! 

Ah, my deare Lord ! what couldst thou spye 
In this impure, rebellious clay, 
That made thee thus resolve to dye 
For those that kill thee every day ? 

O what strange wonders could thee move 
To slight thy precious bloud and breath ? 
Sure it was love, my Lord ; for love 
Is only stronger far than death ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 81 



THE CALL. 



Come, my heart ! come, my head, 

In sighes and teares ! 
'Tis now, since you have laine thus dead, 

Some twenty-years. 

Awake, awake, 

Some pitty take 

Upon yourselves ! 
Who never wake to grone nor weepe, 
Shall be sentenc'd for their sleepe. 
ii. 
Doe but see your sad estate, 

How many sands 
Have left us, while we careles sate 

With folded hands ; 

What stock of nights, 

Of dayes, and yeares, 

In silent nights, 

Stole by our eares ; 
How ill have we ourselves bestow'd, 
Whose suns are all set in a cloud ! 

in. 
Yet, come, and let's peruse them all ; 

And as we passe, 
What sins on every minute fall 

Score on the glasse ; 
G 



82 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Then weigh and rate 
Their heavy state, 
Untill 
The glasse with teares you fill ; 
That done, we shall be safe and good, 
Those beasts were cleane that chew'd the cud. 



THOU THAT KNOW'ST. 

Thou that know'st for whom I mourne, 

And why these teares appeare, 
That keep'st account till the returne 

Of all his dust left here ; 
As easily thou mightst prevent, 

As now produce, these teares, 
And adde unto that day he went 

A faire supply of yeares. 
But 'twas my sinne that forc'd thy hand 

To cull this primrose out, 
That by thy early choice forewarn'd 

My soule might looke about. 
O what a vanity is man ! 

How like the eye's quick winke 
His cottage failes, whose narrow span 

Begins even at the brink ! 
Nine months thy hands are fashioning us, 

And many yeares alas ! 
Ere we can lisp, or ought discusse 

Concerning thee, must passe ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 83 

Yet have I knowne thy slightest things, 

A feather or a shell, 
A stick or rod, which some chance brings^ 

The best of us excell. 
Yea, I have knowne these shreds outlast 

A faire-compacted frame, 
And for one twenty we have past 

Almost outlive our name. 
Thus hast thou plac'd in man's outside 

Death to the common eye, 
That heaven within him might abide, 

And close eternitie. 
Hence youth and folly, man's first shame, 

Are put unto the slaughter, 
And serious thoughts begin to tame 

The wise man's madness, laughter. 
Dull, wretched wormes ! that would not keepe 

Within our first faire bed, 
But out of paradise must creepe 

For ev'ry foote to tread ! 
Yet had our pilgrimage bin free, 

And smooth without a thorne, 
Pleasures had foil'd eternitie, 

And tares had choakt the corne. 
Thus by the crosse salvation runnes ; 

Affliction is a mother, 
Whose painfull throes yield many sons, 

Each fairer than the other. 
A silent teare can peirce thy throne, 

When lowd joyes want a wing ; 



84 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

And sweeter aires streame from a grone, 

Than any arted string. 
Thus, Lord, I see my gaine is great, 

My losse but little to it ; 
Yet something more I must intreate, 

And only thou canst doe it. 
let me, like him, know my end, 

And be as glad to find it ! 
And whatsoe'r thou shalt commend, 

Still let thy servant mind it ! 
Then make my soule white as his owne, 

My faith as pure and steddy ; 
And deck me, Lord, with the same crowne 

That has crownd him already. 



VANITY OP SPIRIT. 

Quite spent with thoughts, I left my cell, and lay 

Where a shrill spring tun'd to the early day. 
I beg'd here long, and gron'd to know 
Who gave the clouds so brave a bow, 
Who bent the spheres, and circled in 
Corruption with this glorious ring ; 
What is his name, and how I might 
Descry some part of his great light. 

I summon'd nature ; peirc'd through all her store ; 

Broke up some seales, which none had touch'd 
before ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. §5 

Her wombe, her bosome, and her head, 
Where all her secrets lay a bed, 
I rifled quite, and having past 
Through all the creatures, came at last 
To search myselfe, where I did find 
Traces and sounds of a strange kind. 
Here of this mighty spring I found some drills, 
With ecchoes beaten from th' eternall hills. 
Weake beames and fires flash'd to my sight, 
Like a young east, or mooneshine night, 
Which shew'd me in a nook cast by 
A peece of much antiquity, 
With hyerogliphicks quite dismembred, 
And broken letters scarce remembred. 
I tooke them up, and, much joy'd, went about 
T' unite those peeces, hoping to find out 
The mystery ; but this near done, 
That little light I had was gone. 
It griev'd me much. At last, said I, . 
" Since in these veyls my ecclips'd eye 
May not approach thee, (for at night 
Who can have commerce with the light ?) 
Fie disapparell, and to buy 
But one half glaunce most gladly dye." 



86 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE RETBEATE. 

Happy those early dayes, when I 
Shin'd in my angell-infancy ! 
Before I understood this place 
Appointed for my second race, 
Or taught my soul to fancy ought 
But a white, celestiall thought ; 
When yet I had not walkt above 
A mile or two from my first love, 
And looking back, at that short space, 
Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; 
When on some gilded cloud or flowre 
My gazing soul would dwell an houre, 
And in those weaker glories spy 
Some shad'ows of eternity ; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a sinfull sound, 
Or had the black art to dispence 
A sev'rall sinne to ev'ry sence, 
But felt through all this fleshly dresse 
Bright shootes of everlastingnesse. 

how I long to travell back, 
And tread again that ancient track ! 
That I might once more reach that plaine, 
Where first I left my glorious traine ; 
From whence th' inlightned spirit sees 
That shady city of palme-trees. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 8? 

But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
Is drunk, and staggers in the way ! 
Some men a forward motion love, 
But I by backward steps would move ; 
And when this dust falls to the urn, 
In that state I came return. 



COME, COME. 

i. 
Come, come ! what doe I here ? 

Since he is gone 
Each day is grown a dozen year, 
And each houre one. 

Come, come ! 
Cut off the sum 
. By these soil'd tears ! 
(Which only thou 
Know'st to be -true,) 
Dayes are my feares. 
ii. 
There's not a wind can stir, 

Or beam passe by, 
But strait I think, though far, 
Thy hand is nigh. 

Come, come ! 
Strike these lips dumb : 



88 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

This restless breath, 

That soiles thy name, 

Will ne'r be tame 

Untill in death, 
in. 
Perhaps some think a tombe 

No house of store, 
But a dark, seal'd up wombe, 

Which ne'r breeds more. 
Come, come ! 

Such thoughts benum. 

But I would be 

With him I weep 

A-bed, and sleep 

To wake in thee. 



MIDNIGHT. 

I. 

When to my eyes, 
Whilst deep sleep others catches, 

Thine host of spyes, 
The starres, shine in their watches, 

I doe survey 

Each busie ray, 
And how they work and wind, 

And with each beame 

My soul doth stream 
With the like ardour shin'd. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 89 

What emanations, 

Quick vibrations, 
And bright stirs are there ! 

What thin ejections, 

Cold affections, 
And slow motions here ! 
ii. 

Thy heav'ns, some say, 
Are a firie-liquid light, 

Which mingling aye 
Streames and flames thus to the sight. 

Come then, my God ! 

Shine on this bloud 
And water in one beame ; 
■ And thou shalt see, 

Kindled by thee, 
Both liquors burne and streame. 

O what bright quickness. 

Active brightness, 
And celestiall flowes, 

Will follow after 

On that water, 
Which thy Spirit blowes ! 

Matt. iii. 11. 

I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance ; but lie that 
convmeth after me is mightier than /, whose shooes lam not worthy 
to beare ; he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with Jire. 



90 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



CONTENT. 

I. 
Peace, peace ! I know 'twas brave ; 

But this coarse fleece, 
I shelter in, is slave 

To no such peece. 

When I am gone, 
I shall no wardrobes leave 

To friend or sonne, 
But what their own homes weave. 

ii. 
Such, though not proud nor full, 

May make them weep, 
And mourn to see the wooll 

Outlast the sheep ; 

Poore, pious weare ! 
Hadst thou bin rich or fine, 



Perhaps that teare 
Had mourn'd thy losse, not mine. 

in. 
Why then these curFd, puffed points, 

Or a laced story ? 
Death sets all out of joint, 

And scornes their glory. 

Some love a rose 
In hand, some in the skin ; 

But, crosse to those, 
I would have mine within.. 






OR SACRED POEMS. 91 



JOY OF MY LIFE. 



I. 

Joy of my life while left me here ! 

And still my love ! 
How in thy absence thou dost steere 

Me from above ! 

A life well lead 

This truth commends, 

With quick or dead 

It never ends. 

ii. 
Stars are of mighty use : the night 

Is dark and long ; 
The rode foul ; and where one goes right, 

Six may go wrong. 

One twinkling ray, 

Shot o'er some cloud, 

May clear much way, 

And guide a croud, 
in. 
God's saints are shining lights : who stays 

Here long must passe 
O're dark hills, swift streames, and steep ways 

As smooth as glasse ; 

But these all night, 

Like candles, shed 

Their beams, and light 

Us into bed. 



92 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

IV. 

They are indeed our pillar-fires, 
Seen as we go ; 

They are that citie's shining spires 
We travell to. 
A swordlike gleame 
Kept man from sin 
First out ; this beame 
Will guide him in* 






THE STORM. 
I. 
I see the use ; and know my bloud 

Is not a sea, 
But a shallow, bounded floud, 
Though red as he ; 
Yet have I flows as strong as his, 

And boyling stremes that rave 
With the same curling force and hisse, 
As doth the mountained wave. 
ii. 
But when his waters billow thus, 

Dark storms and wind 
Incite them to that fierce discusse, 

Else not inclin'd. 
Thus the enlarg'd, inraged air 

Uncalmes these to a floud ; 
But still the weather that's most fair 
Breeds tempests in my bloud. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 93 

III. 

Lord, round me then with weeping clouds ; 

And let my mind 
In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds, 

A spirit-wind : 
So shall that storme purge this recluse 

Which sinfull ease made foul, 
And wind and water to thy use 
Both wash and wing my soul. 



THE MORNING WATCH. 

jotes ! infinite sweetness ! with what flowres 
And shoots of glory my soul breakes and buds ! 

All the long houres 

Of night and rest, 

Through the still shrouds 

Of sleep and clouds, 
This dew fell on my breast ; 

O how it blouds, 
And spirits all my earth ! heark ! in what rings 
And hymning circulations the quick world 

Awakes and sings ! 

The rising winds 

And falling springs, 

Birds, beasts, all things 
Adore him in their kinds. 

Thus all is hurl'd 



94 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In sacred hymnes and order, the great chime 
And symphony of nature. Prayer is 

The world in tune, 

A spirit-voyce, 

And vocall joyes, 
Whose Eccho is heaven's blisse. 

O let me climbe 
When I lye down ! The pious soul by night 
Is like a clouded starre, whose beames, though said 

To shed their light 

Under some cloud, 

Yet are above, 

And shine and move 
Beyond that mistie shrowd. 

So in my bed, 
That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide 
My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide. 



THE EVENING WATCH. — A DIALOGUE. 

BODY. 

Farewell ! I goe to sleep ; but when 
The day-star springs, I'le wake agen. 

SOUL. 

Goe, sleep in peace ; and when thou lyest 
Unnumber'd in thy dust, when all this frame 
Is but one dramme, and what thou now descriest 
In sev'rall parts shall want a name, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 95 

Then may his peace be with thee, and each dust 
Writ in his book, who ne'r betray'd man's trust ! 

BODY. 

Amen ! but hark, eer we two stray, 
How many hours dost think 'till day ? 

SOUL. 

Ah i go ; thou'rt weak and sleepie. Heav'n 
Is a plain watch, and without figures winds 
All ages up ; who drew this circle, even 

He, fils it ; dayes and hours are blinds. 
Yet this take with thee ; the last gasp of time 
Is thy first breath, and man's eternall prime. 



SILENCE AND STEALTH OF DAYES. 

Silence and stealth of dayes ! 'tis now, 

Since thou art gone, 
Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow 

But clouds hang on. 
As he that in some cave's thick damp, 

Lockt from the light,' 
Fixeth a solitary lamp, 

To brave the night, 
And walking from his sun, when past 

That glim'ring ray, 
Cuts through the heavy mists in haste 

Back to his day ; 



96 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

So o'er fled minutes I retreat 

Unto that hour, 
Which shew'd thee last, but did defeat 

Thy light and pow'r. 
I search, and rack my soul to see 

Those beams again ; 
But nothing but the snuff to me 

Appeareth plain. 
That, dark and dead, sleeps in its known 

And common urn ; 
But those, fled to their Maker's throne, 

There shine and burn. 
could I track them ! But souls must 

Track one the other ; 
And now the spirit, not the dust, 

Must be thy brother. 
Yet I have one pearle, by whose light 

All things I see ; 
And in the heart of earth and night 

Find heaven and thee. 



CHURCH SERVICE. 

I. 
Blest be the God of harmony and love ! 

The God above ! 

And holy Dove ! 
Whose interceding, spirituall grones 



OR SACRED POEMS. 97 

Make restless mones 
For dust and stones ; 
For dust in every part, 
But a hard, stonie heart. 
ii. 
how in this thy quire of souls I stand, 
Propt by thy hand, 

A heap of sand ! [quite, 

Which busie thoughts, like winds, would scatter 
And put to flight, 
But for thy might ; 
Thy hand alone doth tame 
Those blasts, and knit my frame ; 
in. 
So that both stones and dust, and all of me, 
Joyntly agree 
To cry to thee ; 
And in this musick, by thy martyrs' bloud 
Seal'd and made good, 
Present, O God, 
The eccho of these stones, 
My sighes and grones ! 



BURIALL. 

I. 
thou ! the first-fruits of the dead, 

And their dark bed, 
When I am cast into that deep 

And senseless sleep, 

H 



98 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

The wages of my sinne, 
then, 
Thou great Preserver of all men, 
Watch o're that loose 
And empty house, 
Which I sometimes liv'd in ! 

ii. 

It is in truth a ruin'd peece, 

Not worth thy eyes ; 
And scarce a room, but wind and rain 
Beat through and stain 
The seats, and cells within ; 
Yet thou, 
Led by thy love, wouldst stoop thus low, 
And in this cott, 
All filth and spott, 
Didst with thy servant inne. 

in. 
And nothing can, I hourely see, 

Drive thee from me. 
Thou art the same, faithfull and just, 
In life or dust. 
Though then thus crumm'd I stray 
In blasts, 
Or exhalations and wasts, 
Beyond all eyes 
Yet thy love spies 
That change, and knows thy clay. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 99 

IV. 

The world's thy boxe : how then, there tost, 

Can I be lost ? 
But the delay is all ; tyme now 
Is old and slow ; 
His wings are dull and sickly. 
Yet he 
Thy servant is, and waits on thee. 



Cutt then the summe 



Lord, haste, Lord, come, 
O come, Lord Jesus, quickly ! 



Rom. viii. 23. 

And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits 
of the spirit, even wee ourselves grone within ourselves, waiting for 
the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body. 



CHEARFULNESS. 

I. 
Lord, with what courage and delight 

I doe each thing, 
When thy least breath sustaines my wing ! 

I shine and move 

Like those above, 

And, with much gladnesse 

Quitting sadnesse, 
Make me faire dayes of every night. 



100 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

II. 

Affliction thus meere pleasure is ; 

And hap what will, 
If thou be in't, 'tis welcome still. 

But since thy rayes 

In sunnie dayes 

Thou dost thus lend, 

And freely spend, 
Ah ! what shall I return for this ? 

in. 
O that I were all soul ! that thou 

Wouldst make each part 
Of this poor sinfull frame pure heart ! 

Then would I drown 

My single one ; 

And to thy praise 

A concert raise 
Of hallelujahs here below. 



SURE, THERE'S A TYE OF BODYES. 
I. 
Sure, there's a tye of bodyes ! and as they 

Dissolve with it to clay, 
Love languisheth, and memory doth rust 

O'r-cast with that cold dust ; 
For things thus center'd, without beames or action, 

Nor give nor take contaction ; 
And man is such a marygold, these fled, 

That shuts, and hangs the head. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 101 

II. 

Absents within the line conspire, and sense 

Things distant doth unite ; 
Herbs sleep unto the East, and some fowles thence 

Watch the returns of light. 
But hearts are not so kind : false, short delights 

Tell us the world is brave, 
And wrap us in imaginary flights 

Wide of a faithfull grave, 
in. 
Thus Lazarus was carried out of town ; 

For 'tis our foe's chief art 
By distance all good objects first to drown, 

And then besiege the heart. 
But I will be my own death's-head ; and though 

The flatt'rer say, I live, 
Because incertainties we cannot know, 

Be sure not to believe. 



PEACE. 

My soul, there is a countrie 

Afar beyond the stars, 
Where stands a winged sentrie 

All skilfull in the wars. 
There, above noise and danger, 

Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles, 
And one born in a manger 

Commands the beauteous files. 



102 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

He is thy gracious friend 

And (O my soul ! awake) 
Did in pure love descend, 

To die here for thy sake. 
If thou canst get but thither, 

There growes the flowre of peace, 
The rose that cannot wither, 

Thy fortresse, and thy ease. 
Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ; 

For none can thee secure 
But One, who never changes, 

Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 



THE PASSION. 
I. 

O my chief good ! 

My dear, dear God ! 

When thy blest bloud 
Did issue forth forc'd by the rod, 

What pain didst thou 

Feel in each blow ! 

How didst thou weep, 

And thyself steep 
In thy own precious, saving teares ! 

What cruell smart 

Did teare thy heart ! 

How didst thou grone it 

In the spirit, 
O thou, whom my soul loves and feares ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 103 

II. 

Most blessed Vine ! 

Whose juice so good 

I feel as wine, 
But thy faire branches felt as bloud, 

How wert thou prest 

To be my feast ! 

In what deep anguish 

Didst thou languish ! 
What springs of sweat and bloud did drown thee ! 

How in one path 

Did the full wrath 

Of thy great Father 

Crowd and gather, 
Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee ! 
in. 

How did the weight 

Of all our sinnes, 

And death unite 
To wrench and rack thy blessed limbes ! 

How pale and bloudie 

Lookt thy body ! 

How bruis'd and broke 

With every stroke ! 
How meek and patient was thy spirit ! 

How didst thou cry, 

And grone on high, 
" Father, forgive, 

And let them live ! 
I dye to make my foes inherit ! " 



104 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

IV. 

blessed Lamb ! 
That took'st my sinne, 
That took'st my shame, 

How shall thy dust thy praises sing ? 

1 would I were 
One hearty teare ! 
One constant spring ! 
Then would I bring 

Thee two small mites, and be at strife 
Which should most vie, 
My heart or eye, 
Teaching my years 
In smiles and tears 

To weep, to sing, thy death, my life. 






AND DO THEY SO? 

Kom. viii. 19. 

Etenim res creatce exerto capite observantes expectant revelationem 

filiorum Dei. 

I. 

And do they so ? have they a sense 

Of ought but influence ? 
Can they their heads lift, and expect, 

And grone too ? why, th' elect 
Can do no more: my volumes said 

They were all dull and dead ; 
They judg'd them senslesse, and their state 

Wholly inanimate. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 105 

Go, go ; seal up thy looks, 
And burn thy books ! 
ii. 
I would I were a stone, or tree, 

Or flowre by pedigree, 
Or some poor highway herb, or spring 

To flow, or bird to sing ! 
Then should I, tyed to one sure state, 

All day expect my date. 
But I am sadly loose, and stray 
A giddy blast each way : 
let me not thus range ! 
Thou canst not change. 
in. 
Sometimes I sit with thee, and tarry 

An hour or so ; then vary. 
Thy other creatures in this scene 

Thee only aym and mean : 
Some rise to seek thee, and with heads 

Erect peep from their beds ; 
Others, whose birth is in the tomb, 
And cannot quit the womb, 
Sigh there, and grone for thee, 
Their liberty. 

IV. 

let not me do lesse ! Shall they 

Watch, while I sleep or play ? 
Shall I thy mercies still abuse 

With fancies, friends, or newes ? 



106 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

brook it not ! thy bloud is mine, 
And my soul should be thine ; 

O brook it not ! why wilt thou stop 
After whole showres one drop ? 
Sure, thou wilt joy to see 
Thy sheep with thee. 



THE RELAPSE. 

My God, how gracious art thou ! I had slipt 

Almost to hell, 
And on the verge of that dark, dreadful pit 

Did hear them yell ; 
But thy love ! thy rich, almighty love, 

That sav'd my soul, 
And checkt their furie, when I saw them move, 

And heard them howl ! 

my soule comfort, take no more these wayes 

This hideous path, 
And T will mend my own without delayes, 
Cease thou thy wrath ! 

1 have deserv'd a thick, Egyptian damp, 

Dark as my deeds, 
Should mist within me, and put out that lamp 

Thy spirit feeds ; 
A darting conscience full of stabs and fears ; 

No shade but yewgh, 
Sullen and sad ecclipses, cloudie spheres, 

These are my due. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 107 

But He that with his bloud (a price too deere) 

My scores did pay, 
Bid me, by vertue from him, chalenge here 

The brightest day; [streams, 

Sweet, downie thoughts, soft lily-shades, calm 

Joyes full and true, 
Fresh, spicie mornings, and eternal beams, — 

These are his due ! 



THE RESOLYE. 

I have consider' d it, and find 

A longer stay 
Is but excus'd neglect. To mind 

One path, and stray 
Into another, or to none, 

Cannot be love : 
When shall that traveller come home, 

That will not move ? 
If thou would'st thither, linger not, 

Catch at the place ; 
Tell youth and beauty they must rot, 

They're but a case ; 
Loose, parcell'd hearts will freeze : the sun 

With scatter'd locks 
Scarce warms, but by contraction 

Can heat the rocks. 



108 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Call in thy powers ; run on, and reach 

Home with the light ; 
Be there before the shadows stretch, 

And span up night. 
Follow the cry no more : there is 

An ancient way 
All strewed with flowres and happiness, 

And fresh as May ; 
There turn, and turn no more : let wits 

Smile at fair eies 
Or lips ; but who there weeping sits, 

Hath got the prize. 



THE MATCH. 

Dear friend ! whose holy ever-living lines 
Have done much good 
To many, and have checkt my blood, 
My fierce, wild blood, that still heaves, and inclines, 
But is still tam'd 
By those bright fires which thee inflam'd ; 
Here I joyn hands, and thrust my stubborn heart 
Into thy deed, 
There from no duties to be freed ; 
And if hereafter youth or folly thwart 
And claim their share, 
Here I renounce the pois'nous ware. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 109 

II. 

Accept, dread Lord, the poore oblation; 
It is but poore ; 
Yet through thy mercies may be more. 
thou that canst not wish my soul's damnation ! 
Afford me life, 
And save me from all inward strife ! 
Two lifes I hold from thee, my gracious Lord ; 
Both cost thee dear : 
For one, I am thy tenant here 
The other, the true life, in the next world 
And endless is, 
O let me still mind that in this ! 
To thee, therefore, my thoughts, words, actions, 
I do resign ; 
Thy will in all be done, not mine. 
Settle my house, and shut out all distractions 
That may unknit 
My heart, and thee planted in it ; 
Lord Jesu ! thou didst bow thy blessed head 
Upon a tree, 
do as much now unto me ! 
hear, and heal thy servant ! Lord, strike dead 
All lusts in me, 
Who onely wish life to serve thee ! 
Suffer no more this dust to overflow 
And drown my eies ; 
But seal, or pin them to thy skies. 
And let this grain which here in tears I sow, 
Though dead and sick, 
Through thy increase grow new and quick. 



110 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



RULES AND LESSONS. 

When first thy eies unveil, give thy soul leave 
To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 
The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and heave 
Unto their God, as flow'rs do to the sun. 

Give him thy first thoughts then ; so shalt thou 
Him company all day, and in him sleep, [keep 

Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer shou'd 
Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours 
'Twixt heaven and us. The manna was not good 
After sun-rising ; far-day sullies flowres. 

Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, 
And heaven's gate opens when this world's is shut. 

Walk with thy fellow-creatures : note the hush 
And whispers amongst them. There's not a spring 
Or leafe but hath his morning hymn. Each bush 
And oak doth know I am. Canst thou not sing ? 
leave thy cares and follies ! go this way, 
And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ; let him not go, 
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resigne 
The whole unto him ; and remember who 
Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sun did shine. 

Poure oyle upon the stones ; weep for thy sin ; 

Then journey on, and have an eie to heav'n. 



OR SACRED POEMS. Ill 

Mornings are mysteries ; the first world's youth, 
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud 
Shrowd in their births : the crown of life, light, truth 
Is stil'd their starre, the stone, and hidden food. 
Three blessings wait upon them, two of which 
Should move : they make us holy, happy, rich. 

When the world's up, and ev'ry swarm abroad, 
Keep thou thy temper ; mix not with each clay ; 
Dispatch necessities ; life hath a load 
Which must be carri'd on, and safely may. 

Yet keep those cares without thee, let the heart 
Be God's alone, and choose the better part. 

Through all thy actions, counsels, and discourse, 
Let mildness and religion guide thee out ; 
If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force ? 
But what's not good and just ne'er go about. 

Wrong not thy conscience for a rotten stick ; 

That gain is dreadful which makes spirits sick. 

To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true ; 

If priest and people change, keep thou thy ground. 

Who sels religion is a Judas Jew ; 

And, oathes once broke, the soul cannot be sound. 
The perjurer's a devil let loose : what can 
Tie up his hands, that dares mock God and man ? 

Seek not the same steps with the crowd ; stick thou 
To thy sure trot ; a constant, humble mind 



112 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Is both his own joy, and his Maker's too ; 

Let folly dust it on, or lag behind. 
A sweet self-privacy in a right soul 
Out-runs the earth, and lines the utmost pole. 

To all that seek thee bear an open heart ; 

Make not thy breast a labyrinth or trap ; 

If tryals come, this wil make good thy part, 

For honesty is safe, come what can hap ; 

It is the good man's feast, the prince of flowres, 
Which thrives in storms, and smels best after 
showres. 

Seal not thy eyes up from the poor ; but give 
Proportion to their merits, and thy purse : 
Thou may'st in rags a mighty prince relieve, 
Who, when thy sins call for't, can fence a curse. 

Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters 
stray, 

The bread we cast returns in fraughts one day. 

Spend not an hour so as to weep another, 

For tears are not thine own ; if thou giv'st words, 

Dash not with them thy friend, nor heav'n ; O 

smother 
A viperous thought ; some syllables are swords. 
Unbitted tongues are in their penance double ; 
They shame their owners, and their hearers 
trouble. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 113 

Injure not modest bloud, while spirits rise 

In judgement against lewdness ; that's base wit, 

That voyds but filth and stench. Hast thou no 

prize 
But sickness or infection ? stifle it. 

Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least, 
If not a very devill, worse than beast. 

Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed ; 

But meet to quench his longings and thy thirst ; 

Allow your joyes religion ; that done, speed, 

And bring the same man back thou wert at first* 
Who so returns not, cannot pray aright, 
But shuts his door, and leaves God out all night. 

To heighten thy devotions, and keep low 
All mutinous thoughts, what business e'r thou hast, 
Observe God in his works ; here fountains flow, 
Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and th' earth 
stands fast ; 
Above are restles motions, running lights, 
Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights. 

When seasons change, then lay before thine eys 
His wondrous method ; mark the various scenes 
In heav'n ; hail, thunder, rainbows, snow, and ice, 
Calmes, tempests, light, and darknes by his means. 
Thou canst not misse his praise : each tree, herb, 

flowre, 
Are shadows of his wisedome and his pow'r. 
i 



114 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

To meales when thou doest come, give him the praise 
Whose arm supply'd thee ; take what may suffice, 
And then be thankful ; O admire his ways 
Who fils the world's unempty'd granaries ! 
A thankless feeder is a theif, his feast 
A very robbery, and himself no guest. 

High-noon thus past, thy time decays ; provide 
Thee other thoughts ; away with friends and 

mirth ; 
The sun now stoops, and hastes his beams to hide 
Under the dark and melancholy earth. 

All but preludes thy end. Thou art the man 
Whose rise, height, and descent is but a span. 

Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all 
Thy beams home with thee ; trim thy lamp, buy oyl, 
And then set forth : who is thus drest, the fall 
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl. 
Man is a summer's day ; whose youth and fire 
Cool to a glorious evening, and expire. 

When night comes, list thy deeds ; make plain the 

way 
'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with delays ; 
But perfect all before thou sleep'st : then say, 
" Ther's one sun more strung on my bead of days." 
What's good score up for joy ; the bad well 

scann'd 
Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand. 



! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 115 

Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave one 

houre 
Before thy time ; be not a stranger there, 
Where thou may'st sleep whole ages ; life's poor 

flow'r 
Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear 
This conversation ; but the good man lyes 
Intombed many days before he dyes. 

Being laid, and drest for sleep, close not thy eyes 

Up with thy curtains ; give thy soul the wing 

In some good thoughts; so when the day shall 

rise, 
And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will bring 
New flames; besides where these lodge, vain 

heats mourn 
And die; that bush, where God is, shall not 
burn. 

When thy nap's over, stir thy fire, unrake 
In that dead age ; one beam i'th' dark outvies 
Two in the day ; then from the damps and ake 
Of night shut up thy leaves ; be chaste ; God prys 

Through thickest nights ; though then the sun 
be far, 

Do thou the works of day, and rise a star. 

Briefly, doe as thou would'st be done unto, 
Love God, and love thy neighbour; watch, and 
pray. 



116 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

These are the words and works of life ; this do, 
And live ; who doth not thus, hath lost heav'n's 
way. 
O lose it not ! look up, wilt change those lights 
For chains of darknes and eternal nights ? 



CORRUPTION. 

Sure it was so. Man in those early days 

Was not all stone and earth; 
He shin'd a little, and, by those weak rays, 

Had some glimpse of his birth. [whence 

He saw heaven o'er bis head, and knew from 

He came condemned hither ; 
And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence 

His mind sure progress'd thither. 
Things here were strange unto him ; swet and till, 

All was a thorn or weed; 
Nor did those last, but, like himself, dyed still 

As soon as they did seed ; 
They seem'd to quarrel with him ; for that act, 

That fell'd him, foyl'd them all ; 
He drew the curse upon the world, and crackt 

The whole frame with his fall. 
This made him long for home, as loath to stay 

With murmurers and foes ; 
He sigh'd for Eden, and would often say, 

"Ah ! what bright days were those ! " 



OR SACRED POEMS. 117 

Nor was heav'n cold unto him ; for each day 

The vally or the mountain 
Afforded visits, and still paradise lay 

In some green shade or fountain. 
Angels lay leiger here ; each bush and cell, 

Each oke and highway, knew them ; 
Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well, 

And he was sure to view them. 
Almighty love ! where art thou now ? mad man 

Sits down, and freezeth on ; 
He raves, and swears to stir nor fire nor fan, 

But bids the thread be spun. 
I see, thy curtains are close-drawn ; thy bow 

Looks dim too in the cloud ; 
Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below 

The center, and his shrowd. 
All's in deep sleep and night ; thick darkness lyes 

And hatcheth o'er thy people — 
But hark ! what trumpet's that ? what angel cries, 

" Arise ! thrust in thy sickle ! " 



H. SCRIPTURES. 

Welcome, dear book, soul's joy and food! the 
feast 

Of spirits ; heav'n extracted lyes in thee. 
Thou art life's charter, the dove's spotless nest 

Where souls are hatch'd unto eternitie. 



118 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In thee the hidden stone, the manna lies ; 

Thou art the great elixir rare and choice ; 
The key that opens to all mysteries, 

The word in characters, God in the voice. 

O that I had deep cut in my hard heart 

Each line in thee ! then would I plead in groans 

Of my Lord's penning, and by sweetest art 
Return upon himself the law and stones. 

Read here, my faults are thine. This book and I 

Will tell thee so ; sweet Saviour, thou didst dye ! 



UNPEOFITABLENES. 

How rich, O Lord, how fresh thy visits are ! 
'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung 

Sullyed with dust and mud ; 
Each snarling blast shot through me, and did shear 
Their youth and beauty; cold showres nipt, and 

Their spiciness and bloud. [wrung 

But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey 
Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more 

Breathe all perfumes and spice ; 
I smell a dew like myrrh, and all the day 
Wear in my bosome a full sun ; such store 

Hath one beame from thy eyes. 
But, ah, my God ! what fruit hast thou of this 1 
What one poor leaf did ever I let fall 

To wait upon thy, wreath ? 



OR SACRED POEMS. 119 

Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress, 
And when th' hast done, a stench or fog is all 
The odour I bequeath. 



CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 



Awake, glad heart ! get up, and sing ! 
It is the birth-day of thy King. 
Awake ! awake ! 
The sun doth shake 
Light from his locks, and, all the way 
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day. 

ii. 
Awake, awake ! heark how th' wood rings, 
Winds whisper, and the busie springs 
A concert make ; 
Awake ! awake ! 
Man is their high-priest, and should rise 
To offer up the sacrifice. 

Hi. 
I would I were some bird, or star, 
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far 
Above this inne 
And rode of sin ! 
Then either star or bird should be 
Shining or singing still to thee. 



120 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

IV. 

I would I had in my best part 

Fit roomes for thee ! or that my heart 

Were so clean as 

Thy manger was ! 
But I am all filth and obscene ; 
Yet, if thou wilt, thou can'st make clean. 

v. 
Sweet Jesu ! will then ; let no more 
This leper haunt and soyl thy door ! 

Cure him, ease him, 

O release him ! 
And let once more, by mystick birth, 
The Lord of life be born in earth. 

II. 

How kind is Heav'n to man ! If here 

One sinner doth amend, 
Straight there is joy, and ev'ry sphere 

In musick doth contend. 
And shall we then no voices lift ? 

Are mercy and salvation 
Not worth our thanks ? Is life a gift 

Of no more acceptation ? 
Shall He that did come down from thence, 

And here for us was slain, 
Shall he be now cast off? no sense 

Of all his woes remain ? 
Can neither love nor sufferings bind? 

Are we all stone and earth ? 



OR SACRED POEMS. 121 

Neither his bloudy passions mind, 

Nor one day blesse his birth ? 
Alas, my God ! thy birth now here 
Must not be numbred in the year.* 



THE CHECK. 

Peace, peace ! I blush to hear thee ; when thou 
A dusty story, [art 

A speechlesse heap, and in the midst my heart, 
In the same livery drest, 
Lyes tame as all the rest ; 
When six years thence digg'd up, some youthfull eie 

Seeks there for symmetry, 
But, finding none, shall leave thee to the wind, 
Or the next foot to crush, 
Scatt'ring thy kind 
And humble dust, — tell then, dear flesh, 
Where is thy glory ? 
ii. 
As he that in the midst of day expects 

The hideous night, 
Sleeps not, but, shaking off sloth and neglects, 
Works with the sun, and sets 
Paying the day its debts ; 
! That, for repose and darkness bound, he might 
Rest from the fears i'th' night ; 
* The Puritans abolished the celebration of Christmas. 



122 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

So should we too. All things teach us to die, 
And point us out the way ; 
While we passe by, 
And mind it not ; play not away 
Thy glimpse of light, 
in. 
View thy forerunners. Creatures, giv'n to be 

Thy youth's companions, 
Take their leave, and die ; birds, beasts, each tree, 
All that hath growth or breath, 
Have one large language, Death ! 
O then play not ! but strive to Him who can 

Make these sad shades pure sun, 
Turning their mists to beams, their damps to day ; 
Whose pow'r doth so excell 
As to make clay 
A spirit, and true glory dwell 
In dust and stones. 

IV. 

Heark, how he doth invite thee ! with what voice 

Of love and sorrow 
He begs and calls ! O that in these thy days 
Thou knew'st but thy own good ! 
Shall not the crys of bloud, 
Of God's own bloud, awake thee ? He bids beware 

Of drunknes, surfeits, care ; 
But thou sleep'st on : where's now thy protestation, 
Thy lines, thy love ? Away ! 
Redeem the day ; 
The day that gives no observation 
Perhaps to-morrow. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 123 

DISORDER AND FRAILTY. 

I. 
When first thou did'st, even from the grave 
And womb of darkness, becken out 
My brutish soul, and to thy slave 
Becam'st thyself both guide and scout ; 

Even from that hour 
Thou got'st my heart ; and though here tost 
By winds, and bit with frost, 

I pine and shrink, 

Breaking the link 
'Twixt thee and me ; and oftimes creep 
Into the old silence and dead sleep, 

Quitting thy way 

All the long day ; 
Yet sure, my God ! I love thee most. 

Alas, thy love ! 
ii. 
I threaten heaven, and from my cell 
Of clay and frailty break and bud, 
Touch'd by thy fire and breath ; thy bloud, 
Too, is my dew, and springing well. 

But while I grow, 
And stretch to thee, ayming at all 
Thy stars and spangled hall, 

Each fly doth taste, 

Poyson, and blast 
My yielding leaves ; sometimes a showr . 
Beats them quite off; and, in an hour, 






124 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Not one poor shoot, 

But the bare root, 
Hid under ground, survives the fall. 

Alas, frail weed! 
in. 
Thus like some sleeping exhalation, 
Which, wak'd by heat and beams, makes up 
Unto that comforter, the sun, 
And soars and shines, but, ere we sup, 

And walk two steps, 
Cool'd by the damps of night, descends, 
And, whence it sprung, there ends, 

Doth my weak fire 

Pine and retire ; 
And, after all my hight of flames, 
In sickly expirations tames, 

Leaving me dead 

On my first bed, 
Until thy sun again ascends. 

Poor, falling star ! 

IV. 

0, yes ! but give wings to my fire ; 
And hatch my soul, until it fly 
Up where thou art, amongst thy tire 
Of stars, above infirmity ; 

Let not perverse 
And foolish thoughts adde to my bill 
Of forward sins, and kill 

That seed which thou 

In me didst sow ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. 125 

But dresse, and water with thy grace, 
Together with the seed, the place ; 

And, for His sake 

Who died to stake 
His life for mine, tune to thy will 

My heart, my verse. 

Hosea vi. 4. 

Ephravm, what shall I do unto thee f Judah, how shall I 
intreat thee f for thy goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the 
early dew it goeth away. 



IDLE VERSE. 

Go, go, queint follies, sugred sin, 
Shadow no more my door ! 

I will no longer cobwebs spin ; 
I'm too much on the score. 

For since amidst my youth and night 
My great Preserver smiles, 

Wee'l make a match, my only light, 
And joyn against their wiles. 

Blind, desp'rate fits, that study how 
To dresse and trim our shame, 

That gild rank poyson, and allow 
Vice in a fairer name ; 



126 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

The purles of youthfull bloud and bowles, 

Lust in the robes of love, 
The idle task of feav'rish souls 

Sick with a scarf or glove ; 

Let it suffice my warmer days 
Simper'd and shin'd on you ; 

Twist not my cypresse with your bays, 
Or roses with my yewgh. 

Go, go, seek out some greener thing ; 

It snows and freezeth here ; 
Let nightingales attend the spring ; 

Winter is all my year. 



SON-DAYES. 

Bright shadows of true rest ! some shoots of blisse ; 

Heaven once a week ; 
The next world's gladnesse prepossest in this ; 

A day to seek ; 
Eternity in time ; the steps by which 
We climb above all ages ; lamps that light 
Man through his heap of dark days ; and the rich 
And full redemption of the whole week's flight ! 

ii. 
The pulleys unto headlong man ; time's bower ; 

The narrow way ; 
Transplanted paradise ; God's walking houre ; 

The cool o'th' day ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 127 

The creature's jubile ; God's parle with dust ; 
Heaven here ; man on those hills of myrrh and 

flowres ; 
Angels descending ; the returns of trust ; 
A gleam of glory after six-days-showres ! 

in. 
The churche's love-feasts ; time's prerogative, 

And interest 
Deducted from the whole ; the combs and hive, 

And home of rest. 
The milky way chalkt out with suns ; a clue, 
That guides through erring hours ; and in full story 
A taste of heav'n on earth ; the pledge and cue 
Of a full feast ; and the out-courts of glory. 



REPENTANCE. 

Lord, since thou didst in this vile clay 

That sacred ray, 
Thy Spirit, plant, quickning the whole 

With that one grain's infused wealth, 
My forward flesh crept on ; and subtly stole 

Both growth and power ; checking the health 
And heat of thine : that little gate 

And narrow way, by which to thee 
The passage is, he term'd a grate 

And entrance to captivitie ; 



128 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy laws but nets, where some small birds, 

And those but seldome too, were caught ; 
Thy promises but empty words, 

Which none but children heard or taught. 
This I believed ; and, though a friend 

Came oft from far, and whisper'd, No ; 
Yet, that not sorting to my end, 

I wholy listen'd to my foe. 
Wherefore, pierc'd through with grief, my sad 

Seduced soul sighs up to thee ; 
To thee, who with true light art clad, 

And seest all things just as they be. 
Look from thy throne upon this roll 

Of heavy sins, my high transgressions, 
Which I confesse with all my soul ; 

My God, accept of my confession ! 

It was last day, 
Touch'd with the guilt of my own way, 
I sate alone ; and taking up 

The bitter cup, 
Through all thy fair and various store, 
Sought out what might outvie my score. 



The blades of grasse thy creatures feeding ; 

The trees, their leafs ; the flowres, their seeding ; 

The dust, of which I am a part ; 

The stones much softer than my heart ; 

The drops of rain, the sighs of wind, 

The stars to which I am stark blind ; 






OR SACRED POEMS. 129 

The dew thy herbs drink up by night, 
The beams they warm them at i'th' light : 
All that have signature or life 
I summon'd to decide this strife ; 
And lest I should lack for arrears, 
A spring ran by, I told her tears ; 
But when these came unto the scale, 
My sins alone outweigh'd them all. 

my dear God ! my life, my love ! 

Most blessed Lamb ! and mildest Dove ! 

Forgive your penitent offender, 

And no more his sins remember ; 

Scatter these shades of death, and give 

Light to my soul, that it may live ; 

Cut me not off for my transgressions, 

Wilful rebellions, and suppressions ; 

But give them in those streams a part 

Whose spring is in my Saviour's heart. 

Lord, I confesse the heynous score, 

And pray I may do so no more ; 

Though then all sinners I exceed ; 

think on this, — thy Son did bleed ! 

call to mind his wounds, his woes, 

His agony, and bloudie throes ; 

Then look on all that thou hast made, 

And mark how they do fail and fade ; 

The heavens themselves, though fair and bright, 

Are dark and unclean in thy sight ; 

K 



130 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

How then, with thee, can man be holy, 
Who doest thine angels charge with folly ? 

what am I, that I should breed 
Figs on a thorne, flowres on a weed ? 

1 am the gourd of sin and sorrow, 
Growing o'er night, and gone to-morrow. 
In all this round of life and death, 
Nothing's more vile than is my breath ; 
Profanenes on my tongue doth rest, 
Defects and darkness in my brest ; 
Pollutions all my body wed, 

And even my soul to thee is dead ; 
Only in Him on whom I feast, 
Both soul and body are well drest ; 

His pure perfection quits all score ; 

And fills the boxes of his poor ; 
He is the center of long life and light ; 
I am but finite, He is infinite. 
O let thy justice then in him confine ; 
And through his merits make thy mercy mine ! 



THE BURIAL OF AN INFANT. 

Blest infant-bud, whose blossome-life 
Did only look about, and fall, 
Wearyed out in a harmless strife 
Of tears, and milk, the food of all ! 






OR SACRED POEMS. 131 

Sweetly didst thou expire : thy soul 
Flew home unstain'd by his new kin ; 
For ere thou knew'st how to be foul, 
Death wean'd thee from the world and sin. 

Softly rest all thy virgin-crums ! 
Lapt in the sweets of thy young breath, 
Expecting till thy Saviour comes 
To dresse them, and unswadle death. 



FAITH. 

Bright and blest beame! whose strong projection, 

Equall to all, 
Reacheth as well things of dejection 

As th' high and tall ; 
How hath my God by raying thee 

Inlarg'd his spouse, 
And of a private familie 

Made open house ! 
All may be now co-heirs ; no noise 

Of bond or free 
Can interdict us from those joys 

That wait on thee. 
The law and ceremonies made 

A glorious night, 
Where stars and clouds, both light and shade, 

Had equal right ; 



132 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But, as in nature, when the day 

Breaks, night adjourns, 
Stars shut up shop, mists pack away, 

And the moon mourns ; 
So when the Sun of righteousness 

Did once appear, 
That scene was chang'd, and a new dresse 

Left for us here ; 
Veiles became useles, altars fell, 

Fires smoking die ; 
And all that sacred pomp, and shell 

Of things did flie. 
Then did he shine forth, whose sad fall 

And bitter fights 
Were figur'd in those mystical 

And cloudie rites ; 
And as i'th' natural sun, these three, 

Light, motion, heat, 
So are now Faith, Hope, Charity 

Through him compleat ; 
Faith spans up blisse ; what sin and death 

Put us quite from, 
Lest we should run for't out of breath, 

Faith brings us home ; 
So that I need no more, but say 

I do believe, 
And my most loving Lord straitway 

Doth answer, Live ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 133 



THE DAWNING. 



Ah ! what time wilt thou come ? when shall that 
erie 
" The bridegroome's comming ! " fill the sky ? 
Shall it in the evening run 
When our words and works are done ? 
Or will thy all-surprizing light 

Break at midnight, 
When either sleep or some dark pleasure 
Possesseth mad man without measure ? 
Or shall these early, fragrant hours 

Unlock thy bowres ? 
And with their blush of light descry 
Thy locks crown'd with eternitie 1 
Indeed, it is the only time 
That with thy glory doth best chime ; 
All now are stirring, ev'ry field 

Full hymns doth yield ; 
The whole creation shakes off night, 
And for thy shadow looks the light ; 
Stars now vanish without number, 
Sleepie planets set and slumber, 
The pursie clouds disband and scatter, 
All expect some sudden matter ; 
Not one beam triumphs, but from far 

That morning star. 



134 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

at what time soever thou, 
Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, 
And, with thy angels in the van, 
Descend to judge poor careless man, 
Grant I may not like puddle lie 
In a corrupt securitie, 
Where, if a traveller water crave, 
He finds it dead, and in a grave ; 
But as this restless, vocal spring 
All day and night doth rung and sing, 
And though here born,* yet is acquainted 
Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted, 
So let me all my busie age 
In thy free services ingage ; 
And though (while here) of force I must 
Have commerce somtimes with poor dust, 
And in my flesh, though vile and low, 
As this doth in her channel flow, 
Yet let my course, my aym, my love, 
And chief acquaintance, be above ; 
So when that day and hour shall come, 
In which thyself will be the sun, 
Thou'lt find me drest, and on my way, 
Watching the break of thy great day. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 135 



ADMISSION. 



I. 

How shrill are silent tears ? when sin got head 

And all my bowels turn'd 
To brasse and iron, when my stock lay dead, 
And all my powers mourn'd : 
Then did these drops (for marble sweats, 

And rocks have tears), 
As rain here at our windows beats, 
Chide in thine ears, 
ii. 
No quiet could'st thou have ; nor didst thou wink, 

And let thy begger lie, 
But, e'r my eies could overflow their brink, 
Didst to each drop reply ; 
Bowels of love ! at what low rate, 

And slight a price, 
Dost thou relieve us at thy gate, 
And still our cries ! 
in. 
Wee are thy infants, and suck thee : if thou 

But hide or turn thy face, 
Because where thou art yet we cannot go, 
We send tears to the place. 
These find thee out ; and though our sins 

Drove thee away, 
Yet with thy love that absence wins 
Us double pay. 



136 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

IV. 

O give me, then, a thankful heart ! a heart 

After thy own, not mine ; 
So after thine, that all and ev'ry part 
Of mine may wait on thine ; 
O hear ! yet not my tears alone, 

Hear now a floud, 
A floud that drowns both tears and grones, 
My Saviour's bloud. 



PEAISE. 

King of comforts ! King of life ! 

Thou hast cheer'd me ; 
And when fears and doubts were rife, 

Thou hast cleer'd me ; 

Not a nook in all my breast 

But thou fill'st it ; 
Not a thought, that breaks my rest, 

But thou kill'st it. 

. Wherefore with my utmost strength 

I will praise thee, 
And, as thou giv'st line and length, 

I will raise thee ; 

Day and night, not once a day, 
I will blesse thee, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 137 

And my soul in new array 
I will dresse thee ; 

Not one minute in the year 

But I'll mind thee, 
As my seal and bracelet here 

I will bind thee ; 

In thy word, as if in heaven, 

I will rest me ; 
And thy promise, 'till made even, 

There shall feast me. 

Then thy sayings, all my life, 

There shall please me ; 
And thy bloudy wounds and strife, 

They will ease me. 

With thy grones, my daily breath 

I will measure ; 
And my life, hid in thy death, 

I will treasure. 

Though then thou art, 

Past thought of heart, 
All perfect fulness, 

And canst no whit 

Accesse admit 
From dust and dulness ; 



138 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Yet to thy name, 
As not the same 

With thy bright essence, 
Our foul clay hands, 
At thy commands, 

Bring praise and incense. 

If then, dread Lord, 
When to thy board 
i Thy wretch comes begging, 
He hath a flowre, 
Or, to his pow'r, 
Some such poor off 'ring ; 

When thou hast made 
Thy begger glad, 

And fiird his bosome, 

Let him, though poor, 
Strow at thy door 

That one poor blossome. 






DRESSING. 



O thou that lovest a pure and whitend soul ! 
That feedst among the lillies, 'till the day 
Break, and the shadows flee ! touch with one coal 
My frozen heart ! and, with thy secret key, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 139 

Open my desolate rooms ; my gloomie brest 
With thy cleer fire refine, burning to dust 
These dark confusions that within me nest, 
And soyl thy temple with a sinful rust. 

Thou holy, harmless, undefiTd High Priest ! 
The perfect, full oblation for all sin, 
Whose glorious conquest nothing can resist, 
But even in babes doest triumph still and win ; 

Give to thy wretched one 
Thy mysticall communion, 

That, absent; he may see, 

Live, die, and rise with thee ; 
Let him so follow here, that, in the end, 
He may take thee, as thou dost him intend. 

Give him thy private seal, 
Earnest, and sign ! Thy gifts so deal 

That these forerunners here 

May make the future cleer ! 
Whatever thou dost bid let faith make good, 
Bread for thy body, and wine for thy blood. 

Give him, with pitty, love, 
Two flowres that grew with thee above ; 

Love that shall not admit 

Anger for one short fit ; 
And pitty of such a divine extent, 
That may thy members, more than mine, resent. 



140 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Give me, my God ! thy grace, 
The beams and brightness of thy face ; 

That never like a beast 

I take thy sacred feast, 
Or the dread mysteries of thy best bloud 
Use, with like custome, as my kitchin food. 

Some sit to thee, and eat 
Thy body as their common meat ; 

let not me do so ! 

Poor dust should ly still low ; 
Then kneel, my soul and body, kneel and bow ; 
If saints and angels fall down, much more thou. 



EASTER-DAY. 

Thou whose sad heart and weeping head lyes low, 
Whose cloudy brest cold damps invade, 

Who never feel'st the sun nor smooth'st thy brow, 
But sitt'st 'oppressed in the shade, 

Awake ! awake ! 

And in his resurrection partake, 

Who on this day, that thou might'st rise as he, 
Rose up, and cancell'd two deaths due to thee. 

Awake ! awake ! and, like the sun, disperse 
All mists that would usurp this day : 



OR SACRED POEMS. 141 

Where are thy palms, thy branches, and thy verse ? 
Hosanna ! heark ! why doest thou stay ? 

Arise ! arise ! 

And with his healing bloud anoint thine eyes, 
Thy inward eyes ; His bloud will cure thy mind, 
Whose spittle only could restore the blind. 



EASTER HYMN. 

Death and darkness, get you packing ! 
Nothing now to man is lacking ; 
All your triumphs now are ended, 
And what Adam marr'd is mended ; 
Graves are beds now for the weary, 
Death a nap, to wake more merry ; 
Youth now, full of pious duty, 
Seeks in thee for perfect beauty ; 
The weak and aged, tir'd with length 
Of daies, from thee look for new strength ; 
And infants with thy pangs contest 
As pleasant as if with the brest. 

Then unto Him who thus hath thrown, 
Even to contempt, thy kingdome down, 
And by his blood did us advance 
Unto his own inheritance, 
To Him be glory, power, praise, 
From this unto the last of daies ! 



142 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE HOLY COMMUNION. 

Welcome sweet, sacred feast ! welcome life ! 

Dead I was, and deep in trouble ; 
But grace and blessings came with thee so rife, 
That they have quicken'd even drie stubble. 
Thus soules their bodies animate, 
And thus at first when things were rude, 
Dark, void, and crude, 
They by thy word their beauty had and date 
All were by thee, 
And still must be ; 
Nothing that is or lives 
But hath his quicknings and reprieves, 
As thy hand opes or shuts ; 
Healings and cuts, 
Darkness and daylight, life and death, 
Are but meer leaves turn'd by thy breath. 



Spirits without thee die, 

And blackness sits 
On the divinest wits, 
As on the sun ecclipses lie. 
But that great darkness at thy death, 
When the veyl broke with thy last breath, 
Did make us see 
The way to thee ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. 143 

And now by these sure, sacred ties, 
After thy blood 
Our sov'rain good, 
Had clear'd our eies, 
And given us sight ; 
Thou dost unto thyself betroth 
Our souls and bodies both 
In everlasting light. 

Was't not enough that thou hadst payd the price, 

And given us eies 
When we had none, but thou must also take 
Us by the hand, 
And keep us still awake, 
When we would sleep, 
Or from thee creep, 
Who without thee cannot stand ? 

Was't not enough to lose thy breath 
And blood by an accursed death, 
But thou must also leave 
To us, that did bereave 
Thee of them both, these seals, the means 
That should both cleanse 
And keep us so, 
Who wrought thy wo ? 
O rose of Sharon ! O the lilly 

Of the valley! 
How art thou now, thy flock to keep, 
Become both food, and Shepheard to thy sheep ! 



144 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



PSALM CXXI. 

Up to those bright and gladsome hills, 
Whence flowes my weal and mirth, 

I look, and sigh for Him who fills 
Unseen both heaven and earth. 

He is alone my help and hope, 
That I shall not be moved ; 

His watchful eye is ever ope, 
And guardeth his beloved. 

The glorious God is my sole stay, 

He is my sun and shade : 
The cold by night, the heat by day, 

Neither shall me invade. 

He keeps me from the spite of foes ; 

Doth all their plots controul ; 
And is a shield, not reckoning those, 

Unto my very soul. 

Whether abroad amidst the crowd, 

Or else within my door, 
He is my pillar and my cloud, 

Now and for evermore. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 145 



AFFLICTION. 



Peace, peace : it is not so. Thou dost miscall 
Thy physick ; pills that change 
Thy sick accessions into setled health ; 
This is the great elixir that turns gall 
To wine and sweetness, poverty to wealth, 
And brings man home when he doth range. 
Did not He who ordain'd the day, 

Ordain night too ? 
And in the greater world display 
What in the lesser he would do ? 
All flesh is clay, thou know'st ; and but that God 

Doth use his rod, 
And by a fruitfull change of frosts and showres 

Cherish and bind thy pow'rs, 
Thou wouldst to weeds and thistles quite disperse, 

And be more wild than is thy verse. 
Sickness is wholsome, crosses are but curbs 

To check the mule, unruly man ; 
They are heaven's husbandry, the famous fan, 

Purging the floor which chaff disturbs. 
Were all the year one constant sun-shine, wee 

Should have no flowres ; 
All would be drought and leanness ; not a tree 

Would make us bowres. 
Beauty consists in colours ; and that's best 

Which is not fixt, but flies and flowes. 

The settled red is dull, and whites that rest 

Something of sickness would disclose. 

L 



146 SILEX SCLNTILLANS, 

Vicissitude plaies all the game ; 
Nothing that stirrs, 
Or hath a name, 
But waits upon this wheel ; 
Kingdomes too have their physick, and for steel 
Exchange their peace and furrs. 
Thus doth God key disorder'd man, 

Which none else can, 
Tuning his brest to rise or fall ; 
And by a sacred, needfull art 
Like strings, stretch ev'ry part, 
Making the whole most musicall. 



THE TEMPEST. 

How is man parcell'd out 1 how every hour 
Shews him himself, or something he should see ! 
This late long heat may his instruction be ; 
And tempests have more in them than a showr. 

When nature on her bosome saw 

Her infants die, 
And all her flowres wither'd to straw, 

Her brests grown dry ; 
She made the earth, their nurse and tomb, 

Sigh to the sky, 
'Till to those sighes fetch'd from her womb 

Kain did reply : 



I! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 147 

So in the midst of all her fears 

And faint requests, 
Her earnest sighes procur'd her tears 

And fill'd her brests. 

that man could do so ! that he would hear 

The world read to him ! all the vast expence 
In the creation shed, and slav'd to sence 

Makes up but lectures for his eie and ear. 

Sure mighty love, foreseeing the descent 
Of this poor creature, by a gracious art 
Hid in these low things snares to gain his heart, 

And layd surprizes in each element. 

All things here shew him heaven ; waters that fall, 
Chide and fly up ; mists of corruptest foam 
Quit their first beds, and mount ; trees, herbs, 
flowres, all 

Strive upwards still, and point him the way home. 

How do they cast off grossness ? only earth, 
And man like Issachar in lodes delight, 
Water's refin'd to motion, aire to light, 

Fire to all * three, but man hath no such mirth. 

Plants in the root with earth do most comply, 
Their leafs with water and humiditie, 
The flowres to air draw neer and subtiltie, 

And seeds a kindred fire have with the sky. 

* Light, motion, heat. 



148 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

All have their keyes and set ascents ; but man 
Though he knows these, and hath more of his 

own, 
Sleeps at the ladder's foot : alas ! what can 

These new discoveries do, except they drown ? 

Thus, groveling in the shade and darkness, he 
Sinks to a dead oblivion ; and though all 
He sees, like pyramids, shoot from this ball, 

And less'ning still grow up invisibly, 

Yet hugs he still his durt ; the stuffe he wears, 
And painted trimming takes down both his eies ; 
Heaven hath less beauty than the dust he spies, 

And money better musick than the spheres. 

Life's but a blast ; he knows it ; what ? shall straw 
And bulrush-fetters temper his short hour ? 
Must he nor sip nor sing ? grows ne'r a flowr 

To crown his temples ? shall dreams be his law ? 

O foolish man ! how hast thou lost thy sight ? 
How is it that the sun to thee alone 
Is grown thick darkness, and thy bread a stone ? 

Hath flesh no softness now ? mid-day no light ? 

Lord ! thou didst put a soul here. If I must 
Be broke again, for flints will give no fire 
Without a steel, O let thy power cleer 

Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to dust ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 149 



RETIREMENT. 



I. 

Who on yon throne of azure sits, 

Keeping close house 
Above the morning starre, 
Whose meaner showes 
And outward utensils these glories are, 
That shine and share 
Part of his mansion ; he one day, 
When I went quite astray, 
Out of meer love, 
By his mild Dove, 
Did shew me home, and put me in the way. 
ii. 
Let it suffice at length thy fits 

And lusts, said he, 
Have had their wish and way ; 
Presse not to be 
Still thy own foe, and mine ; for to this day 
I did delay, 
And would not see, but chose to wink ; 
Nay, at the very brink 
And edge of all, 
When thou wouldst fall, 
My love-twist held thee up, my unseen link, 
in. 
I know thee well ; for I have fram'd, 
And hate thee not ; 



150 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy spirit, too, is mine ; 
I know thy lot, 
Extent, and end, for my hands drew the line 
Assigned thine. 
If, then, thou would'st unto my seat, 
'Tis not the applause and feat 
Of dust and clay 
Leads to that way, 
But from those follies a resolv'd retreat. 

IV. 

Now here below, where yet untam'd 
Thou dost thus rove, 
I have a house as well 
As there above : 
In it my name and honour both do dwell, 
And shall untill 
I make all new ; there, nothing gay 
In perfumes or array, 
Dust lies with dust, 
And hath but just 
The same respect and room with ev'ry clay. 

v. 

A faithfull school, where thou maist see, 
In heraldrie 
Of stones and speechless earth, 

Thy true descent ; [mirth 

Where dead men preach, who can turn feasts and 
To funerals and Lent. 



OR SACKED POEMS. 151 

There dust, that out of doors might fill 
Thy eies, and blind thee still, 
Is fast asleep. 
Up, then, and keep 
Within those doors, my doors. Dost hear ? I will. 



LOVE AND DISCIPLINE. 

Since in a land not barren still, 
Because thou dost thy grace distill, 
My lot is fain, blest be thy will ! 

And since these biting frosts but kill 
Some tares in me which choke or spill 
That seed thou sow'st, blest be thy skill ! 

Blest be thy dew, and blest thy frost, 
And happy I to be so crost, 
And cur'd by crosses at thy cost. 

\ 
The dew doth cheer what is distrest, 

The frosts ill weeds nip and molest, 

In both thou work'st unto the best. 

Thus, while thy sev'ral mercies plot, 
And work on me now cold, now hot, 
The work goes on, and slacketh not ; 



152 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

For as thy hand the weather steers, 
So thrive I best 'twixt joyes and tears, 
And all the year have some grean ears. 



THE PILGRIMAGE. 

As travellours, when the twilight's come, 

And in the sky the stars appear, 

The past day's accidents do summe 

With, " Thus wee saw there, and thus here ; : 

Then, Jacob-like, lodge in a place, 
A place, and no more, is set down, 
Where, till the day restore the race, 
They rest, and dream homes of their own ; 

So for this night I linger here, 
And, full of tossings to and fro, 
Expect still, when thou wilt appear, 
That I may get me up, and go. 

I long and grone and grieve for thee, 
For thee my words, my tears, do gush ; 
" O that I were but where I see ! " 
Is all the note within my bush. 

As birds robb'd of their native wood, 
Although their diet may be fine, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 153 

Yet neither sing, nor like their food. 
But with the thought of home do pine ; 

So do I mourn and hang my head ; 
And though thou dost me fullnes give, 
Yet look I for far better bread, 
Because by this man cannot live. 

O feed me then ! and since I may 
Have yet more days, more nights, to count, 
So strengthen me, Lord, all the way, 
That I may travel to thy mount. 

Heb. xi. 13. 

And they confessed, that they were strangers and pilgrims on the 
earth. 



THE LAW AND THE GOSPEL. 

I. 
Lord, when thou didst on Sinai pitch, 
And shine from Paran ; when a firie law, 
Pronounc'd with thunder and thy threats, did thaw 
Thy people's hearts ; when all thy weeds were rich, 
And inaccessible for light, 
Terrour, and might, — 
How did poor flesh, which after thou didst weare, 

Then faint and fear ! 
Thy chosen flock, like leafs in a high wind, 
Whisper'd obedience, and their heads inclin'd. 



154 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

II. 

But now since we to Sion came, 
And through thy bloud thy glory see, 
With filial confidence we touch ev'n thee ; 
And where the other mount, all clad in flame 
And threatning clouds, would not so much 
As 'bide the touch, 
We climb up this, and have, too, all the way, 

Thy hand our stay ; 
Nay, thou tak'st ours, and, which full comfort brings, 
Thy Dove, too, bears us on her sacred wings, 
in. 
Yet since man is a very brute, 
And, after all thy acts of grace, doth kick, 
Slighting that health thou gav'st when he was sick, 
Be not displeas'd, if I, who have a sute 
To thee each houre, beg at thy door 
For this one more : 

plant in me thy gospel and thy law, 

Both faith and awe ; 
So twist them in my heart, that ever there 

1 may, as well as love, find too thy fear ! 

IV. 

Let me not spill, but drink, thy bloud ; 
Not break thy fence, and, by a black excess, 
Force down a just curse, when thy hands would 

bless ; 
Let me not scatter and despise my food, 
Or nail those blessed limbs again 
Which bore my pain. 






OR SACRED POEMS. 155 

So shall thy mercies flow ; for, while I fear, 

I know thoul't bear ; 
But should thy mild injunction nothing move me, 
I would both think and judge I did not love thee. 

John xiv. 15. 
If ye love me, keep my commandments. 



THE WORLD. 

I. 
I saw eternity the other night, 
Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 

All calm, as it was bright ; 
And round beneath it, time, in hours, days, years, 

Driv'n by the spheres 
Like a vast shadow mov'd, in which the world 

And all her train were hurl'd. 
The doting lover, in his queintest strain, 

Did there complain ; 
Neer him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, 

Wit's sour delights ; 
With gloves and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, 

Yet his dear treasure 
All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour 
Upon a flowr. 
ii. 
The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe, 
Like a thick midnight fog, mov'd there so slow, 
He did nor stay nor go ; 



156 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Condemning thoughts, like mad ecclipses, scowl 

Upon his soul, 
And clouds of crying witnesses without 

Pursued him with one shout. 
Yet digg'd the mole, and, lest his ways be found, 

Workt under ground, 
Where he did clutch his prey ; but one did see 

That policie ; 
Churches and altars fed him ; perjuries 

Were gnats and flies ; 
It rain'd about him bloud and tears ; but he 

Drank them as free. 

in. 

The fearfull miser, on a heap of rust, 

Sate pining all his life there ; did scarce trust 

His own hands with the dust ; 
Yet would not place one peece above, but lives 

In feare of theeves. 
Thousands there were, as frantick as himself, 

And hugg'd each one his pelf; 
The downright epicure plac'd heav'n in sense, 

And scorn'd pretence ; 
While others, slipt into a wide excesse, 

Said little lesse ; 
The weaker sort, slight, triviall wares inslave, 

Who think them brave, 
And poor, despised truth sate counting by 

Their victory. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 157 

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, 
And sing and weep, soar'd up into the ring ; 

But most would use no wing. 
" O fools," said I, " thus to prefer dark night 

Before true light ! 
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day 

Because it shews the way, 
The way, which, from this dead and dark abode, 

Leads up to God ; 
A way where you might tread the sun, and be 

More bright than he ! " 
But, as I did their madnes so discusse, 

One whisper'd thus, 
" This ring the bridegroome did for none provide, 

But for his bride." 

John ii. 16, 17. 

All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, 
and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. 

And the world passeth away, and the lusts thereof; but he that 
doth the will of God abideth for ever. 



THE MUTINIE. 
I. 
Weary of this same clay and straw, I laid 
Me down to breathe, and casting in my heart 
The after-burthens and griefs yet to come, 

The heavy sum 
So shook my brest, that, sick and sore dismai'd, 
My thoughts, like water which some stone doth start, 



158 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Did quit their troubled channel, and retire 

Unto the banks, where, storming at those bounds, 

They murmur'd sore ; but I, who felt them boyl, 

And knew their coyl, 
Turning to Him who made poor sand to tire 
And tame proud waves, If yet these barren grounds 
And thirstie brick must be, said I, 
My taske and destiuie, 

XI. 

Let me so strive and struggle with thy foes, 
(Not thine alone, but mine too,) that, when all 
Their arts and force are built unto the height, 

That Babel-weight 
May prove thy glory and their shame ; so close 
And knit me to thee, that, though in this vale 
Of sin and death I sojourn, yet one eie 
May look to thee, to thee the Finisher 
And Author of my faith; so shew me home, 

That all this foam 
And frothie noise, which up and down doth flie, 
May find no lodging in mine eie or eare ; 
O seal them up ! that these may flie 
Like other tempests by. 
in. 
Not but I know thou hast a shorter cut 
To bring me home than through a wildernes, 
A sea, or sands, and serpents ; yet since thou, 

As thy words show, 
Though in this desart I were wholy shut, 
Canst light and lead me there with such redress 



OR SACRED POEMS. 159 

That no decay shal touch me ; O be pleas'd 
To fix my steps ; and whatsoever path 
Thy sacred and eternall will decreed 

For thy bruis'd reed, 
give it full obedience, that, so seiz'd 
Of all I have, I may nor move thy wrath 
Nor grieve thy Dove, but, soft and mild, 
Both live and die thy child. 

Rev. ii. 17. 

To him that overcometh wil I give to eate of the hidden manna ; 
and I will give him a while stone, and in the stone a new name 
written, which no man knoweth, saving he that receiveth it 



THE CONSTELLATION. 

Fair, ordered lights, whose motion, without noise, 

Resembles those true joys 
Whose spring is on that hill where you do grow, 

And we here taste sometimes below, 

With what exact obedience do you move, 

Now beneath, and now above ; 
And, in your vast progressions, overlook 

The darkest night and closest nook ! 

Some nights I see you in the gladsome East, 

Some others near the West ; 
And when I cannot see, yet do you shine, 

And beat about your endles line. 



160 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Silence and light and watchfulnes with you 

Attend and wind the clue ; 
No sleep nor sloth assailes you, but poor man 

Still either sleeps, or slips his span. 

He gropes beneath here, and, with restless care, 

First makes, then hugs, a snare ; 
Adores dead dust, sets heart on corne and grass, 

But seldom doth make heav'n his glass. 

Musick and mirth, if there be musick here, 

Take up and tune his year ; 
These things are kin to him, and must be had, 

Who kneels, or sighs a life, is mad. 

Perhaps some nights he'll watch with you, and peep, 

When it were best to sleep ; 
Dares know effects, and judge them long before, 

When th' herb he treads knows much, much 
more. 

But seeks he your obedience, order, light, 

Your calm and w el-train' d flight, 
Where, though the glory differ in each star, 

Yet is there peace still and no war. 



Since placed by Him who calls you by your names, 

And fixt there all your flames, 
Without command you never acted ought, 

And then you in your courses fought. 



OB SACRED POEMS. 161 

But here, commission'd by a black self-will, 

The sons the father kill ; 
The children chase the mother, and would heal 

The wounds they give by crying zeale. 

Then cast her bloud and tears upon thy book, 

Where they for fashion look ; 
And, like that lamb which had the dragon's voice, 

Seem mild, but are known by their noise. 

Thus, by our lusts disorder'd into wars, 

Our guides prove wandring stars, 
Which for these mists and black days were reserv'd, 

What time we from our first love swerv'd. 

Yet for His sake who sits now by thee 

All cf own'd with victory, 
So guide us through this darkness, that we may 

Be more and more in love with day ! 

Settle and fix, our hearts, that we may move 

In order, peace, and love ; 
And, taught obedience by thy whole creation, 

Become an humble, holy nation ! 

Give to thy spouse her perfect and pure dress, 

Beauty and holiness ; 
And so repair these rents, that men may see, 

And say, "'Where God is, all agree." 

M 



162 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE SHEPHEARDS. 



Sweet 3 harmless lives ! on whose holy leisure 

Waits innocence and pleasure, 
Whose leaders to those pastures and cleer springs 

Were patriarchs, saints, and kings ; 
How happend it, that, in the dead of night, 

You only saw true light, 
While Palestine was fast asleep, and lay 

Without one thought of day ? 
Was it because those first and blessed swains 

Were pilgrims on those plains, 
When they receiv'd the promise, for which now 

'Twas there first shown to you ? 
'Tis true, he loves that dust whereon they go 

That serve him here below, 
And therefore might, for memory of those, 

His love there first disclose ; 
But wretched Salem, once his love, must now 

No voice nor vision know ; 
Her stately piles, with all their height and pride, 

Now languished and died, 
And Bethlem's humble cotts above them stept, 

While all her seers slept ; 
Her cedar, firr, hew'd stones, and gold were all 

Polluted through their fall ; 
And those once sacred mansions were now 

Meer emptiness and show. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 163 

This made the angel call at reeds and thatch, 

Yet where the shepheards watch, 
And God's own lodging, though he could not lack, 

To be a common kack ; 
No costly pride, no soft-cloath'd luxurie, 

In those thin eels could lie ; 
Each stirring wind and storm blew thro' their cots, 

Which never harbour'd plots ; 
Only content and love and humble joys 

Lived there without all noise ; 
Perhaps some harmless cares for the next day 

Did in their bosomes play, 
As where to lead their sheep, what silent nook, 

What springs or shades to look : 
But that was all ; and now, with gladsome care, 

They for the town prepare ; 
They leave their flock, and, in a busie talk. 

All towards Bethlem walk 
To see their soul's great Shepheard, who was come 

To bring all straglers home ; 
Where now they find him out, and, taught before, 

That Lamb of God adore ; 
That Lamb whose daies great kings and prophets 

And long'd to see, but miss'd. [wish'd 

The first light they beheld was bright and gay, 

And turn'd their night to day ; 
But, to this later light they saw in him, 

Their day was dark and dim. 




164 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



MISERY. 

Lord, bind me up, and let me lye 
A pris'ner to my libertie, 
If such a state at all can be 
As an impris'ment serving thee : 
The wind, though gather'd in thy fist, 
Yet doth it blow still where it list ; 
And yet, shouldst thou let go thy hold, 
Those gusts might quarrel, and grow bold. 

As waters here, headlong and loose, 
The lower grounds still chase and choose, 
Where, spreading all the way, they seek 
And search out every hole and creek ; 
So my spilt thoughts, winding from thee, 
Take the down-rode to vanitie, 
Where they all stray and strive, which shall 
Find out the first and steepest fall. 
I cheer their flow, giving supply 
To what's already grown too high ; 
And, having thus perform'd that part, 
Feed on those vomits of my heart. 
I break the fence my own hands made, 
Then lay that trespasse in the shade ; 
Some fig-leafs stil I do devise, 
As if thou hadst nor ears nor eyes. 
Excesse of friends, of words, and wine 
Take up my day, while thou dost shine 



OR' SACRED POEMS. 165 

All unregarded, and thy book 

Hath not so much as one poor look. 

If thou steal in amidst the mirth, 

Arid kindly tell me I am earth, 

I shut thee out, and let that slip, 

Such musick spoils good fellowship. 

Thus wretched I, and most unkind, 

Exclude my dear God from my mind ; 

Exclude him thence, who of that cell 

Would make a court, should he there dwell. 

He goes, he yields ; and, troubled sore, 

His Holy Spirit grieves therefore ; 

The mighty God, th' eternal King, 

Doth grieve for dust, and dust doth sing. 

But I go on, haste to divest 

Myself of reason, till opprest 

And buried in my surfeits, I 

Prove my own shame and miserie. 

Next day I call and cry for thee, 

Who shouldst not then come neer to me ; 

But now it is thy servant's pleasure 

Thou must and dost give him his measure. 

Thou dost, thou com'st, and, in a shower 

Of healing sweets, thyself dost pour 

Into my wounds ; and now thy grace 

(I know it well) fills all the place ; 

I sit with thee by this new light, 

And for that hour thou'rt my delight ; 

No man can more the world despise, 

Or thy great mercies better prize. 



166 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

I school my eyes, and strictly dwell 
Within the circle of my cell ; 
That calm and silence are my joys, 
Which to thy peace are but meer noise. 
s At length I feel my head to ake, 
My fingers itch, and burn to take 
Some new imployment ; I begin 
To swell and foame and fret within. 
" The age, the present times, are not 
To snudge in, and embrace a cot ; 
Action and bloud now get the game, 
Disdein treads on the peaceful name ; 
Who sits at home, too, bears a loade 
Greater than those that gad abroad." 
Thus do I make thy gifts giv'n me 
The only quarrellers with thee ; 
I'd loose those knots thy hands did tie, 
Then would go travel, fight, or die. 
Thousands of wild and waste infusions 
Like waves beat on my resolutions ; 
As flames about their fuel run, 
And work and wind till all be done, 
So my fierce soul bustles about, 
And never rests till all be out. 
Thus wilded by a peevish heart, 
Which in thy musick bears no part, 
I storm at thee, calling my peace 
A lethargy and meer disease ; 
Nay, those bright beams, shot from thy eyes 
To calm me in these mutinies, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 167 

I stile meer tempers, which take place 
At some set times, but are thy grace. 

Such is man's life, and such is mine, 
The worst of men, and yet still thine ; 
Still thine, thou know'st, and if not so, 
Then give me over to my foe. 
Yet since as easie 'tis for thee 
To make man good as bid him be, 
And with one glaunce, could he that gain, 
To look him out of all his pain, 
O send me from thy holy hill 
So much of strength as may fulfil 
All thy delights whate'er they be, 
And sacred institutes in me ! 
Open my rockie heart, and fill 
It with obedience to thy will ; 
Then seal it up, that as none see, 
So none may enter there but thee. 

O hear, my God ! hear Him whose bloud 
Speaks more and better for my good ! 
let my crie come to thy throne ! 
My crie not pour'd with tears alone, 
(For tears alone are often foul,) 
But with the bloud of all my soul ; 
With spirit-sighs and earnest grones, 
Faithful and most repenting mones, 
With these I crie, and crying pine, 
Till thou both mend, and make me thine. 



168 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE SAP. 



Come, sapless blossom, creep not still on earth 

Forgetting thy first birth ! 
Tis not from dust ; or if so, why dost thou 

Thus call and thirst for dew ? 
It tends not thither ; if it doth, why then 

This growth and stretch for heav'n ? 
Thy root sucks but diseases ; worms there seat, 

And claim it for their meat. 
Who plac'd thee here did something then infuse, 

Which now can tell the news. 
There is beyond the stars an hill of myrrh, 

From which some drops fall here ; 
On it the Prince of Salem sits, who deals 

To thee thy secret meals ; 
There is thy country, and he is the way, 

And hath withal the key. 
Yet liv'd he here sometimes, and bore for thee 

A world of miserie, — 
For thee who in the first man's loyns didst fall 

From that hill to this vale ; 
And had not he so done, it is most true 

Two deaths had been thy due ; 
But going hence, and knowing well what woes 

Might his friends discompose, 
To shew what strange love he had to our good, 

He gave his sacred bloud, 



. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 169 



By will our sap and cordial ; now in this 

Lies such a heav'n of bliss, 
That who but truly tastes it, no decay 

Can touch him any way. 
Such secret life and vertue in it lies, 

It will exalt, and rise, 
And actuate such spirits as are shed, 

Or ready to be dead ; 
And bring new too. Get then this sap, and get 

Good store of it, but let 
The vessel where you put it be for sure 

To all your pow'r most pure ; 
There is at all times, though shut up, in you 

A powerful, rare dew, 
Which only grief and love extract ; with this 

Be sure, and never miss, 
To wash your vessel well : then humbly take 

This balm for souls that ake ; 
And one who drank it thus assures that you 

Shal find a joy so true, 
Such perfect ease, and such a lively sense 

Of grace against all sins, 
That you'll confess the comfort such, as even 

Brings to, and comes from, Heaven. 



170 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



MOUNT OF OLIVES. 



When first I saw true beauty, and thy joys 
Active as light, and calm without all noise, 
Shin'd on my soul, I felt through all my pow'rs 
Such a rich air of sweets, as evening showrs 
Fand by a gentle gale convey, and breathe 
On some parch'd bank, crown'd with a flowrie 

wreath ; 
Odors, and myrrh, and balm in one rich floud, 
O'r-ran my heart, and spirited my bloud ; 
My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eie 
Confest the world did only paint and lie. 
And where before I did no safe course steer, 
But wandcr'd under tempests all the year ; 
Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, 
And was blow'n through by every storm and wind, 
I am so warm'd now by this glance on me, 
That midst all storms I feel a ray of thee. 
So have I known some beauteous paisage rise 
In suddain flowres and arbours to my eies, 
And in the depth and dead of winter bring 
To my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring. 

Thus fed by thee, who dost all beings nourish, 
My wither'd leafs again look green and flourish ; 
I shine and shelter underneath thy wing, 
Where sick with love I strive thy name to sing ; 
Thy glorious name ! which grant I may so do, 
That these may be thy praise, and my joy too ! 



i 






OR SACRED POEMS. 171 

MAN. 
I. 

Weighing the stedfastness and state 
Of some mean things which here below reside, 
Where birds like watchful clocks the noiseless date 

And intercourse of times divide, 
Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowrs, 

Early as well as late, 
Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowrs ; 
ii. 
I would, said I, my God would give 
The staidness of these things to man ! for these 
To his divine appointments ever cleave, 

And no new business breaks their peace ; 
The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine, 

The flowres without clothes live, 
Yet Solomon was never drest so fine, 
in. 
Man hath still either toyes or care ; 
He hath no root, nor to one place is ty'd, 
But ever restless and irregular 

About this earth doth run and ride. 
He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where ; 

He sayes it is so far, 
That he hath quite forgot how to go there. 

IY. 

He knocks at all doors, strays and roams ; 
Nay, hath not so much wit as some stones have, 
Which in the darkest nights point to their homes 

By some hid sense their Maker gave ; 



172 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest 

And passage through these looms 
God order'd motion, but ordain'd no rest. 



I WALKT THE OTHER DAY. 
I. 
I walkt the other day, to spend my hour, 

Into a field, 
Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield 

A gallant flowre ; 
But winter now had ruffled all the bowre 
And curious store 
I knew there heretofore. 
u. 
Yet I, whose search lov'd not to peep and peer 

I'th' face of things, 
Thought with myself there might be other springs 

Besides this here, 
Which, like cold friends, sees us but once a year ; 
And so the flowre 
Might have some other bowre. 
in. 
Then, taking up, what I could neerest spie, 

I digg'd about 
That place where I had seen him to grow out ; 

And by and by 
I saw the warm recluse alone to lie, 
Where fresh and green 
He lived of us unseen. 



OR SACRED POEMS. . 173 

IV. 

Many a question intricate and rare 

Did I there strow ; 
But all I could extort was, that he now 

Did there repair 
Such losses as befel him in this air, 

And would ere long 
Coma forth most fair and young. 
v. 
This past, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head ; 

And stung with fear 
Of my own frailty dropt down many a tear 

Upon his bed ; 
Then sighing whisper'd, " Happy are the dead! 

What peace doth now 
Rock him asleep below ! " 

VI. 

And yet, how few believe such doctrine springs 

From a poor root, 
Which all the winter sleeps here under foot, 

And hath no wings 
To raise it to the truth and light of things ; 

But is stil trod 
By ev'ry wandring clod. 

VII. 

Thou whose spirit did at first inflame 

And warm the dead, 
And by a sacred incubation fed 

With life this frame, 
Which once had neither being, forme, nor name ! 



174 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Grant I may so 
Thy steps track here below, 

VIII. 

That in these masques and shadows I may see 

Thy sacred way ; 
And by those hid ascents climb to that day 

Which breaks from Thee, 
Who art in all things, though invisibly ! 

Shew me thy peace, 
Thy mercy, love, and ease ! 

IX. 

And from this care, where dreams and sorrows raign, 

Lead me above, 
Where light, joy, leisure, and true comforts move 

Without all pain ; 
There, hid in thee, shew me his life again, 

At whose dumbe urn 
Thus all the year I mourn ! 



BEGGING. 

King of mercy, King of love, 
In whom I live, in whom I move, 
Perfect what thou hast begun, 
Let no night put out this sun. 
Grant I may, my chief desire, 
Long for thee, to thee aspire ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 175 

Let my youth, my bloom of dayes, 
Be my comfort and thy praise ; 
That hereafter, when I look 
O'er the sullyed, sinful book, 
I may find thy hand therein 
Wiping out my shame and sin ! 
it is thy only art 
To reduce a stubborn heart ; 
And since thine is victorie, 
Strong holds should belong to thee. 
Lord, then take it, leave it not 
Unto my dispose or lot ; 
But since I would not have it mine, 
O my God, let it be thine ! 

Jude 24, 25. 

Now unto Him that is able to Jceep us from falling, and to pre- 
sent us faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, 

To the only wise God, our Saviour, be glory and majesty, 
dominion and power, now and ever. Amen, 



END OF THE FIRST PART. 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 



PART II. 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 



ASCENSION-DAY. 



)rd Jesus ! with what sweetness and delights, 
Sure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickning flights, 
)ost thou feed thine ! thou ! the hand that lifts 
To Him who gives all good and perfect gifts, 
Thy glorious, bright ascension, though remov'd 
So many ages from me, is so prov'd, 
And by thy Spirit seal'd to me, that I 
Feel me a sharer in thy victory ! 
I soar and rise 
Up to the skies, 

Leaving the world their day ; 
And in my flight, 
For the true light, 

Go seeking all the way ; 
I greet thy sepulchre, salute thy grave, 
That blest inclosure, where the angels gave 
The first glad tidings of thy early light, 
And resurrection from the earth and night. 



180 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

I see that morning in thy convert's* tears, 

Fresh as the dew, which but this dawning wears, 

I smell her spices ; and her ointment yields 

As rich a scent as the now-primros'd fields. 

The day-star smiles, and light with the deceast 

Now shines in all the chambers of the East. 

What stirs, what posting intercourse and mirth 

Of saints and angels glorifie the earth ? 

"What sighs, what whispers, busie stops and stays, 

Private and holy talk, fill all the ways ? 

They pass as at the last great day, and run 

In their white robes to see the risen Sun ; 

I see them, hear them, mark their haste, and move 

Amongst them, with them, wing'd with faith and 

love. 
Thy forty days more secret commerce here, 
After thy death and funeral, so clear 
And indisputable, shews to my sight 
As the sun doth, which to those days gave light. 
I walk the fields of Bethany, which shine 
All now as fresh as Eden, and as fine. 
Such was the bright world on the first seventh day, 
Before man brought forth sin, and sin decay ; 
When like a virgin, clad in flowers and green, 
The pure earth sat, and the fair woods had seen 
No frost, but flourish'd in that youthful vest 
With which their great Creator had them drest ; 
When heav'n above them shin'd like molten glass, 
While all the planets did unclouded pass ; 
* St. Mary Magdalene. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 181 

And springs, like dissolv'd pearls, their streams 

did pour, 
Ne'er marr'd with floods, nor angered with a 

showre. 
With these fair thoughts I move in this fair place, 
And the last steps of my milde Master trace. 
I see him leading out his chosen train, 
All sad with tears, which, like warm summer rain, 
In silent drops steal from their holy eyes, 
Fix'd lately on the cross, now on the skies. 
And now, eternal Jesus ! thou dost heave 
Thy blessed hands to bless those thou dost leave. 
The cloud doth now receive thee ; and, their sight 
Having lost thee, behold two men in white ! 
Two, and no more ; " What two attest is true," 
Was thine own answer to the stubborn Jew. 
Come, then, thou faithful witness ! come, dear Lord, 
Upon the clouds again to judge this world ! 



ASCENSION HYMN. 

Dust and clay, 

Man's antient wear, 

Here you must stay, 

But I elsewhere ! 
Souls sojourn here, but may not rest; 
Who will ascend must be undrest. 



182 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

And yet some, 

That know to die 

Before death come, 

Walk to the skie 
Even in this life ; but all such can 
Leave behinde them the old man. 

If a star 

Should leave the sphaere, 

She must first mar 

Her flaming wear, 
And after fall ; for, in her dress 
Of glory, she cannot transgress. 

Man of old, 

Within the line 

Of Eden, could 

Like the sun shine, 
All naked, innocent, and bright, 
And intimate with heav'n as light ; 

But, since he 
That brightness soiPd, 
His garments be 
All dark and spoil'd, 
And here are left as nothing worth, 
Till the Refiner's fire breaks forth. 

Then comes he ! 
Whose mighty light 




OR SACRED POEMS. 183 

Made his cloathes b§, 

Like heav'n, all bright ; 
The Fuller, whose pure blood did flow, 
To make stain'd man more white than snow. 

Hee alone, 

And none else, can 

Bring bone to bone, 

And rebuild man ; 
And, by his all-subduing might, 
Make clay ascend more quick than light. 



THEY ARE ALL GONE. 

They are all gone into the world of light, 

And I alone sit lingring here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright^ 
And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest, 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory, 

Whose light doth trample on my days ; 
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 
Meer glimering and decays. 



184 SILEX SC1NTILLANS, 

O holy hope ! and high humility ! 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous death ; the jewel of the just ! 

Shining nowhere but in the dark ; 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fl edg'd bird's nest may know 

At first sight if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams, 

Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted 
theams, 
And into glory peep. 

If a star were confin'd into a tomb, 

Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 
But, when the hand that lockt her up gives room, 
She'll shine through all the sphaere. 

O Father of eternal life, and all 

Created glories under thee ! 
Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 185 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill 

My perspective still as they pass ; 

Or else remove me hence unto that hill 

Where I shall need no glass. 



WHITE SUNDAY. 

Wellcome, white day ! a thousand suns, 
Though seen at once, were black to thee ! 
For, after their light, darkness comes ; 
But thine shines to eternity. 

Those flames, which on the apostles rush'd 
At this great feast, and, in a tyre 
Of cloven tongues, their heads all brush'd, 
And crown'd them with prophetic fire, — 

Can these new lights be like to those, 
These lights of serpents like the Dove ? 
Thou hadst no gall ev'n for thy foes, 
And thy two wings were grief and love. 

Though then some boast that fire each day, 
And on Christ's coat pin all their shreds ; 
Not sparing openly to say, 
His candle shines upon their heads ; 



186 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Yet, while some rays of that great light 
Shine here below within thy book, 
They never shall so blinde my sight, 
But I will know which way to look. 

For though thou doest that great light lock, 
And by this lesser commerce keep, 
Yet, by these glances of the flock, 
I can discern wolves from the sheep. 

Not but that I have wishes too, 

And pray, " These last may be as first, 

Or better ; " but thou long ago 

Hast said, " These last should be the worst/ 5 

Besides, thy method with thy own, 
Thy own dear people, pens our times ; 
Our stories are in theirs set down, 
And penalties spread to our crimes. 

Again, if worst and worst implies 
A state that no redress admits, 
Then, from thy cross unto these days, 
The rule without exception fits. 

And yet, as in night's gloomy page 
One silent star may interline ; 
So, in this last and lewdest age, 
Thy antient love on some may shine. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 187 

For though we hourly breathe decays, 
And our best note and highest ease 
Is but meer changing of the keys, 
And a consumption that doth please ; 

Yet thou the great eternal Rock, 
Whose height above all ages shines, 
Art still the same, and canst unlock 
Thy waters to a soul that pines. 

Since, then, thou art the same this day 
And ever as thou wert of old, 
And nothing doth thy love allay, 
But our heart's dead and sinful cold ; 

As thou long since wert pleas'd to buy 
Our drown'd estate, taking the curse 
Upon thyself, so to destroy 
The knots we tyed upon thy purse, — 

So let thy grace now make the way 
Even for thy love ; for by that means 
We, who are nothing but foul clay, 
Shall be fine gold which thou didst cleanse. 

O come! refine us with thy fire! 
Refine us ! we are at a loss : 
Let not thy stars for Balaam^s hire 
Dissolve into the common dross ! 



188 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE PROFFER. 



Be still, black parasites, 
Flutter no more ; 
Were it still winter, as it was before, 

You'd make no flights ; 
But now the dew and sun have warm'd my bowres, 
You flie and flock to suck the flowers. 

But you would honey make : 
These buds will wither, 
And what you now extract, in harder weather 

"Will serve to take ; 
Wise husbands will, you say, their wants prevent ; 
Who do not so, too late repent. 

O poysonous, subtile fowls ! 
The flyes of hell, 
That buz in every ear, and blow on souls 

Until they smell 
And rot, descend not here, nor think to stay ! 
I've read, who 'twas drove you away. 

Think you these longing eyes, 
Though sick and spent, 
And almost famish'd, ever will consent 

To leave those skies, 
That glass of souls and spirits, where well drest 
They shine in white, like stars, and rest. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 189 

Shall my short hour, my inch, 
My one poor sand, 
And crum of life now ready to disband, 

Eevolt and flinch ; 
And having born the burthen all the day, 
Now cast at night my crown away ? 

No, no ; I am not he : 
Go, seek elsewhere ! 
I skill not your fine tinsel, and false hair, 

Your sorcery, 
And smooth seducements : Tie not stuff my story 
With your poor commonwealth and glory. 

There are that will sow tares 
And scatter death 
Amongst the quick, selling their souls and breath 

For any wares ; 
But when thy Master comes, they'll finde and see, 
There's a reward for them and thee. 

Then keep the antient way ! 
Spit out their phlegm, 
And fill thy brest with home ; think on thy dream : 

A calm, bright day ! 
A land of flowers and spices ! the word given. 
If these be fair, O what is Heaven ! 



190 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



COCK-CROWING. 

Father of lights ! what sunnie seed, 
What glance of day hast thou confin'd 
Into this bird ? To all the breed 
This busie ray thou hast assign'd ; 

Their magnetism e works all night, 
And dreams of paradise and light. 

Their eyes watch for the morning hue, 

Their little grain expelling night 

So shines and sings, as if it knew 

The path unto the house of light. 

It seems their candle, howe'r done, 
Was tinn'd and lighted at the sunne. 

If such a tincture, such a touch, 
So firm a longing can impowre, 
Shall thy own image think it much 
To watch for thy appearing hour ? 
If a meer blast so fill the sail, 
Shall not the breath of God prevail ? 

O thou immortall light and heat ! 

Whose hand so shines through all this frame, 

That, by the beauty of the seat, 

We plainly see who made the same. 
Seeing thy seed abides in me, 
Dwell thou in it, and I in thee ! 






OR SACRED POEMS. 191 

To sleep without thee is to -die ; 

Yea, 'tis a death partakes of hell : 

For where thou dost not close the eye, 

It never opens, I can tell. 

In such a dark, ^Egyptian border, 
The shades of death dwell and disorder. 

If joyes and hopes, and earnest throes, 
And hearts whose pulse beats still for light, 
Are given to birds ; who, but thee, knows 
A love-sick soul's exalted flight ? 

Can souls be track'd by any eye 

But His who gave them wings to flie? 

Onely this veyle which thou hast broke, 

And must be broken yet in me, 

This veyle, I say, is all the cloke 

And cloud which shadows me from thee. 
This veyle thy full-ey'd love denies, 
And onely gleams and fractions spies. 

take it off ! make no delay ; 

But brush me with thy light, that I 

May shine unto a perfect day, 

And warme me at thy glorious eye ! 
take it off! or till it flee, 
Though with no lilie, stay with me ! 



192 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE STARRE. 

Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below 
Attracts thee thus, and makes thee stream and flow, 
And wind and curie, and wink and smile, 
Shifting thy gate and guile, 

Though thy close commerce nought at all imbarrs 
My present search, for eagles eye not starrs ; 
And still the lesser by the best 
And highest good is blest ; 

Yet, seeing all things that subsist and be 
Have their commissions from Divinitie, 
And teach us duty, I will see 
"What man may learn from thee. 

First, I am sure, the subject so respected 
Is well disposed ; for bodies, once infected, 
Deprav'd, or dead, can have with thee 
No hold nor sympathie. 



Next, there's in it a restless, pure desire 
And longing for thy bright and vitall fire, 
Desire that never will be quench'd, 
Nor can be writh'd nor wrench'd. 






These are the magnets, which so strongly move 
And work all night upon thy light and love ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 193 

As beauteous shapes, we know not why, 
Command and guide the eye. 

For where desire, celestiall, pure desire, 
Hath taken root, and grows, and doth not tire, 
There God a commerce states, and sheds 
His secret on their heads. 

This is the heart he craves ; and who so will 
But give it him, and grudge not, he shall feel 
That God is true, as herbs unseen 
Put on their youth and green. 



THE PALM-TREE. 

Deare friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade, 
As I have yours long since : this plant, you see 
So prest and bow'd, before sin did degrade 
Both you and it, had equall liberty 

With other trees ; but now shut from the breath 

And air of Eden, like a mal-content 

It. thrives no where. This makes these weights, like 

death 
And sin, hang at him ; for the more he's bent, 

The more he grows. Celestial natures still 
Aspire for home ; this Solomon of old 
o 



194 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

By flowers and carvings and mysterious skill 
Of wings, and cherubims, and palms foretold. 

- * 

This is the life which, hid above with Christ 
In God, doth always hidden multiply, 
And spring and grow, a tree ne'r to be priced, 
A tree whose fruit is immortality. 

Here spirits that have run their race, and fought, 
And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns 
Nor lov'd the smiles of greatness, but have wrought 
Their Master's will, meet to receive their crowns. 

Here is the patience of the saints : this tree 
Is water'd by their tears, as flowers are fed 
With dew by night ; but One you cannot see 
Sits here, and numbers all the tears they shed. 

Here is their faith too, which if you will keep 
When we two part, I will a journey make 
To pluck a garland hence while you do sleep, 
And weave it for your head against you wake. 



JOY. 



Be dumb, coarse measures ; jar no more ; to me 
There is no discord but your harmony, 
False, jugling sounds ; a grone well drest where care 
Moves in disguise, and sighs afflict the air. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 195 

Sorrows in white ; griefs tun'd ; a sugerd dosis 
Of wormwood, and a death's-head crown'd with roses. 
He weighs not your forc'd accents, who can have 
A lesson plaid him by a winde or wave. 
Such numbers tell their days, whose spirits be 
LulPd by those charmers to a lethargy. 

But as for thee, whose faults long since require 
More eyes than stars, whose breath, could it aspire 
To equal winds, would prove too short : thou hast 
Another mirth, a mirth, though overcast 
With clouds and rain, yet full as calm and fine 
As those clear heights which above tempests shine. 
Therefore, while the various showers 
Kill and cure the tender flowers, 
While the winds refresh the year 
Now with clouds, now making clear, 
Be sure under pains of death 
To ply both thine eyes and breath. 
As leafs in bowers 
Whisper their hours, 
And hermit-wells 
Drop in their cells ; 
So in sighs and unseen tears 
Pass thy solitary years, 
And going hence leave written on some tree, 
" Sighs make joy sure, and shaking fastens thee." 



196 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE FAVOUR. 

O thy bright looks ! thy glance of love 

Shown, and but shown, me from above ! 

Rare looks ! that can dispense such joy 

As without wooing wins the coy, 

And makes him mourn, and pine, and dye, 

Like a starv'd eaglet, for thine eye. 

Some kinde herbs here, though low and far, 

Watch for and know their loving star. 

O let no star compare with thee ! 

Nor any herb out-duty me ! 

So shall my nights and mornings be 

Thy time to shine, and mine to see. 



THE GARLAND. 

Thou who dost flow and flourish here below, 
To whom a falling star and nine dayes' glory, 
Or some frail beauty makes the bravest shew, 
Hark, and make use of this ensuing story : — 

When first my youthfull, sinfull age 

Grew master of my wayes, 
Appointing errour for my page, 

And darknesse for my dayes ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 197 

I flung a way^ and with full crie 

Of wild affections, rid 
In post for pleasures, bent to trie 

All gamesters that would bid. 
I played with fire, did counsell spurn, 

Made life my common stake ; 
But never thought that fire would burn, 

Or that a soul could ake. 
Glorious deceptions, gilded mists, 

False joyes, phantastick flights, 
Peeces of sackcloth with silk lists, 

These were my prime delights. 
I sought choice bowres, haunted the spring, 

Cull'd flowres and made me posies ; 
Gave my fond humours their full wing, 

And crown'd my head with roses. 
But at the height of this careire 

I met with a dead man, 
Who, noting well my vain abear, 

Thus unto me began : 
" Desist, fond fool, be not undone, 

What thou hast cut to-day 
Will fade at night, and with this sun 

Quite vanish and decay." 

Flowres gather'd in this world, die here: if thou 
Wouldst have a wreath that fades not, let them grow, 
And grow for thee. Who spares them here, shall find 
A garland, where comes neither rain nor wind. 



198 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



LOVE-SICK. 



Jesus, my life ! how shall I truly love thee ? 

O that thy Spirit would so strongly move me ; 

That thou wert pleased to shed thy grace so farr 

As to make man all pure love, flesh a star ! 

A star that would ne'r set, but ever rise, 

So rise and run, as to out-run these skies, 

These narrow skies (narrow to me) that barre, 

So barre me in, that I am still at warre, 

At constant warre, with them. O come and rend, 

Or bow the heavens ! Lord, bow them and descend, 

And at thy presence make these mountains flow, 

These mountains of cold ice in me ! Thou art 

Refining fire, O then refine my heart, 

My fottl, foul heart ! Thou art immortall heat ; 

Heat motion gives ; then warm it, till it beat, 

So beat for thee, till thou in mercy hear, 

So hear that thou must open ; open to 

A sinfull wretch, a wretch that caused thy woe ; 

Thy woe, who eaus'd his weal ; so far his weal 

That thou forgott'st thine own, for thou didst seal 

Mine with thy blood, thy blood which makes thee 

mine, 
Mine ever, ever ; and me ever thine. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 199 



TRINITY-SUNDAY. 

O holy, blessed, glorious Three, 

Eternall witnesses that be 

In heaven, One God in Trinitie ! 

As here on earth, when men with-stood, 
The Spirit, Water, and the Blood 
Made my Lord's incarnation good ; 

So let the anty-types in me 
Elected, bought, and seal'd for free, 
Be own'd, sav'd, sainted by you Three ! 



PSALME CIV. 

Up, O my soul, and blesse the Lord ! O God, 

My God, how great, how very great art thou ! 
Honour and majesty have their abode 
With thee, and crown thy brow. 

Thou cloath'st thyself with light, as with a robe, 

And the high, glorious heav'ns thy mighty hand 
Doth spread like curtains round about this globe 
Of air, and sea, and land. 

! 

The beams of thy bright chambers thou dost lay 
In the deep waters, which no eye can find ; 



200 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

The clouds thy chariots are, and thy path-way 
The wings of the swift wind. 

In thy celestiall, gladsome messages 

Dispatch'd to holy souls, sick with desire 
And love of thee, each willing angel is 
Thy minister in fire. 

Thy arm unmoveable for ever laid 

And founded the firm earth ; then with the 
deep, 
As with a vail, thou hidst it ; thy floods plaid 
Above the mountains steep. 

At thy rebuke they fled ; at the known voice 
Of their Lord's thunder, they retir'd apace : 
Some up the mountains past by secret ways, 
Some downwards to their place. 

For thou to them a bound hast set ; a bound, 
Which, though but sand, keeps in and curbs 
whole seas : 
There all their fury, foame, and hideous sound, 
Must languish and decrease. 

And as thy care bounds these, so thy rich love 
Doth broach the earth; and lesser brooks lets 
forth, 
Which run from hills to valleys, and improve 
Their pleasure and their worth. 



These to th 



OR SACRED POEMS. 201 



These to the beasts of every field give drink ; 

There the wilde asses swallow the cool springs ; 
And birds amongst the branches on their brink 
Their dwellings have and sing. 

Thou, from thy upper springs above, from those 
Chambers of rain where heav'n's large bottles 
lie, 
Doest water the parch'd hills, whose breaches close, 
Heal'd by the showers from high. 

Grass for the cattel, and herbs for man's use, 
Thou mak'st to grow ; these, blest by thee, the 
earth 
Brings forth, with wine, oyl, bread : all which in- 
fuse 
To man's heart strength and mirth. 

Thou giv'st the trees their greenness, ev'n to those 

Cedars in Lebanon, in whose thick boughs 
The birds their nests build ; though the stork doth 
The fir-trees for her house. [choose 

To the wilde goats the high hills serve for folds, 

The rocks give conies a retyring place : 
Above them the cool moon her known course holds, 
And the sun runs his race. 

Thou makest darkness, and then comes the night ; 
In whose thick shades and silence each wilde beast 



202 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Creeps forth, and, pinch'd for food, with scent and 
sight 
Hunts in an eager quest. 

The lyon's whelps, impatient of delay, 

Roar in the covert of the woods, and seek 
Their meat from thee, who doest appoint the prey. 
And feed'st them all the week. 

This past, the sun shines on the earth, and they 

Retire into their dens ; man goes abroad 
Unto his work, and at the close of day 
Returns home with his load. 

O Lord my God, how many and how rare 

Are thy great works! In wisdom hast thou 
made 
Them all ; and this the earth, and every blade 
Of grass we tread, declare. 

So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are 

Innumerable creeping things, both small 
And great : there ships go, and the shipmen's fear, 
The comely spacious whale. 

These all upon thee wait, that thou maist feed 
Them in due season : what thou giv'st they 
take; 
Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, 
And plenteous meals they make. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 203 

When thou doest hide thy face (thy face which keeps 
All things in being), they consume and mourn; 
When thou with-draw'st their breath, their vigour 
sleeps, 
And they to dust return. 

Thou send'st thy spirit forth, and they revive ; 

The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew. 
Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive, 
And to thy works art true. 

Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage 
Is mov'd and trembles, the hills melt and smoke 
With thy least touch; lightnings and winds that 
rage 
At thy rebuke are broke. 

Therefore, as long as thou wilt give me breath, 

I will in songs to thy great name imploy 
That gift of thine, and to my day of death 
Thou shalt be all my joy. 

lie spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word 

Gather true comforts ; but the wicked liver 
Shall be consum'd. O my soul, bless the Lord ! 
Yea, blesse thou him for ever ! 



.204 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE BIRD. 

Hither thou com'st. The busie wind all night 
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm 

wing 
Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm, 
For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, 

Rain'd on thy bed 

And harmless head ; 

And now, as fresh and chearful as the light, 
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing 
Unto that Providence whose unseen arm 
Curb'd them, and cloath'd thee well and warm. 
All things that be praise Him ; and had 
Their lesson taught them when first made. 

So hills and valleys into singing break ; [tongue, 
And though poor stones have neither speech nor 
While active winds and streams both run and speak, 
Yet stones are deep in admiration. 
Thus praise and prayer here beneath the sun 
Make lesser mornings, when the great are done. 

For each inclosed spirit is a star 

Inlightning his own little sphaere, 
Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed from far, 

Both mornings makes and evenings there. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 205 

But as these birds of light make a land glad, 
Chirping their solemn matins on each tree ; 
So in the shades of night some dark fowls be, 

Whose heavy notes make all that hear them sad. 

The turtle then in palm-trees mourns, 

While owls and satyrs howl ; 
The pleasant land to brimstone turns, 

And all her streams grow foul. 

Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, all flye, 
Till the day-spring breaks forth again from high. 



THE TIMBER. 

Sure thou didst flourish once ! and many springs, 
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers 

Past ore thy head ; many light hearts and wings, 
Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. 

And still a new succession sings and flies ; 

Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches 
shoot 
Towards the old and still enduring skies ; 

While the low violet thrives at their root. 

But thou beneath the sad and heavy line 

Of death doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark ; 



206 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, 
Nor any thought of greenness, leaf or bark. 



And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent, 

Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, 

Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent 
Before they come, and know'st how near they be. 

Else all at rest thou lyest, and the fierce breath 
Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease ; 

But this thy strange resentment after death 
Means onely those who broke in life thy peace. 

So murthered man, when lovely life is done, 
And his blood freez'd, keeps in the center still 

Some secret sense, which makes the dead blood run 
At his approach that did the body kill. 

And is there any murth'rer worse than sin ? 

Or any storms more foul than a lewd life ? 
Or what resentient can work more within 

Than true remorse, when with past sins at strife ? 

He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care, 
And truly hates to be detain'd on earth, 

Hath got an house where many mansions are, 
And keeps his soul unto eternal mirth. 

But though thus dead unto the world, and ceas'd 
From sin, he walks a narrow, private way ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 207 

Yet grief and old wounds make him sore displeas'd, 
And all his life a rainy, weeping day. 

For though he should forsake the world, and live ' 
As meer a stranger as men long since dead, 

Yet joy itself will make a right soul grieve 
To think he should be so long vainly led. 

But as shades set off light, so tears and grief, 
Though of themselves but a sad blubber'd story, 

By shewing the sin great, shew the relief 

Far greater, and so speak my Saviour's glory. 

If my way lies through deserts and wilde woods, 
Where all the land with scorching heat is curst, 

Better the pools should flow with rain and floods 
To fill my bottle than I die with thirst. 

Blest showers they are, and streams sent from above, 
Begetting virgins where they use to flow ; 

The trees of life no other waters love [grow. 

Than upper springs, and none else make them 

But these chaste fountains flow not till we dye : 
Some drops may fall before, but a clear spring 
And ever running, till we leave to fling 

Dirt in her way, will keep above the skie. 

Rom. vi. 7. 
He that is dead is freed from sin. 



208 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE JEWS. 

When the fair year 
Of your Deliverer comes, 
And that long frost which now benums 
Your hearts shall thaw ; when angels here 
Shall yet to man appear, 
And familiarly confer 
Beneath the oke and juniper ; 
When the bright Dove, 
Which now these many, many springs 
Hath kept above, 
Shall with spread wings 
Descend, and living waters flow 
To make drie dust, and dead trees grow ; 

then that I 
Might live, and see the olive bear 
Her proper branches, which now lie 

Scattered each where, 
And, without root and sap, decay, 
Cast by the husbandman away ! 

And sure it is not far ! 
For as your fast and foul decays, 

Forerunning the bright morning star, 
Did sadly note his healing rayes 
Would shine elsewere, since you were blind, 
And would be cross, when God was kinde, — 






OR SACRED POEMS. 209 

So, by all signs 
Our fulness too is now come in ; 

And the same sun, which here declines 
And sets, will few hours hence begin 
To rise on you again, and look 
Towards old Mamre and Eshcol's brook. 

For surely He 
Who lov'd the world so as to give 
His onely Son to make it free, 
Whose Spirit too doth mourn and grieve 
To see man lost, will for old love 
From your dark hearts this veil remove. 

Faith sojourn'd first on earth in you, 
You were the dear and chosen stock : 

The arm of God, glorious and true, 
Was first reveal'd to be your rock. 

You were the eldest childe ; and, when 

Your stony hearts despised love, 
The youngest, ev'n the Gentiles, then 

Were ehear'd your jealousie to move. 

Thus, Righteous Father ! doest thou deal 
With brutish men : thy gifts go round 

By turns, and timely, and so heal 
The lost son by the newly found. 



210 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



BEGGING. 

Aye do not go ! thou know'st I'll dye ! 

My spring and fall are in thy book ! 
Or, if thou goest, do not deny 

To lend me, though from far, one look ! 

My sins long since have made thee strange, 

A very stranger unto me ; 
No morning meetings since this change, 

Nor evening walks have I with thee. 

Why is my God thus slow and cold, 
When I am most, most sick and sad ? 

Well fare those blessed days of old, 

When thou didst hear the weeping lad ! * 

O do not thou do as I did, 

Do not despise a love-sick heart ! 

What though some clouds defiance bid, 
Thy sun must shine in every part. 

Though I have spoil'd, O spoil not thou ! 

Hate not thine own dear gift and token ! 
Poor birds sing best, and prettiest show, 

When their nest is fain and broken. 
* Ishmael. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 211 

Dear Lord ! restore thy ancient peace, 

Thy quikning friendship, man's bright wealth! 

And, if thou wilt not give me ease 
From sicknesse, give my spirit health ! 



PALM-SUNDAY. 

Come, drop your branches, strow the way, 

Plants of the day ! 
Whom sufferings make most green and gay. 
The King of grief, the Man of sorrow, 
Weeping still like the wet morrow, 
Your shades and freshness comes to borrow. 

Put on, put on your best array ; 
Let the joy'd road make holy-day, 
And flowers, that into fields do stray 
Or secret groves, keep the high-way. 

Trees, flowers, and herbs ; birds, beasts, and stones, 

That since man fell expect with groans 

To see the Lamb, come all at once, 

Lift up your heads and leave your moans ! 

For here comes He 

Whose death will be 
Man's life, and your full liberty. 



212 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Hark ! how the children, shrill and high, 

Hosanna cry ; 
Their joys provoke the distant skie, 
Where thrones and seraphins reply ; 
And their own angels shine and sing 

In a bright ring : 

Such yong, sweet mirth 

Makes heaven and earth 
Joyn in a joyful symphony. 

The harmless, yong, and happy ass, 
Seen long before* this came to pass, 
Is in these joys an high partaker, 
Ordain'd and made to bear his Maker. 

Dear feast of palms, of flowers and dew ! 

Whose fruitful dawn sheds hopes and lights ; 
Thy bright solemnities did shew, 

The third glad day through two sad nights. 

I'll get me up before the sun, 

I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, 

And all alone full early run 

To gather flowers to wellcome thee. 

Then, like the palm, though wronged I'll bear ; 

I will be still a childe, still meek 
As the poor ass, which the proud jear, 

And onely my dear Jesus seek. 

* Zech. ix. 9. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 213 

If I lose all, and must endure 
The proverb'd griefs of holy Job, 

I care not, so I may secure 

But one green branch and a white robe. 



JESUS WEEPING. 

St. Luke, xix. 41. 

Blessed, unhappy city ! dearly lov'd, 
But still unkinde ! Art this day nothing mov'd ? 
Art senseless still? can'st thou sleep 
When God himself for thee doth weep ? 
Stiff-necked Jews ! your father's breed 
That serv'd the calf, not Abr'am's seed, 
Had not the babes hosanna cryed, 
The stones had spoke what you denyed. 

■ 
Dear Jesus, weep on ! pour this latter 

Soul-quickning rain, this living water, 

On their dead hearts ; but (0 my fears !) 

They will drink blood that despise tears. 

My dear, bright Lord ! my Morning-star ! 

- Shed this live-dew on fields which far 

From hence long for it ! shed it there, 

Where the starv'd earth groans for one tear ! 

This land, tho' with thy heart's blest extract fed, 
Will nothing yield but thorns to wound thy head. 



214 SILEX. SCINTILLANS, 

THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 

St. Matthew, xiv. 6, &c. 

Vain, sinful art ! who first did fit 
Thy lewd, loath'd motions unto sounds, 
And made grave musique, like wilde wit, 
Erre in loose airs beyond her bounds, 

What fires hath he heap'd on his head ! 
Since to his sins, as needs it must, 
His art adds still, though he be dead, 
New fresh accounts of blood and lust. 

Leave, then,* yong sorceress ; the ice 
Will those coy spirits cast asleep, 
Which teach thee now to pleasef his eyes 
Who doth thy lothsome mother keep. 

But thou hast pleas'd so well, he swears, 
And gratifies thy sin with vows ; 
His shameless lust in publick wears, 
And to thy soft arts strongly bows. 

Skilful inchantress ! and true bred ! 
Who out of evil can bring forth good ! 
Thy mother's nets in thee were spred : 
She tempts to incest, thou to blood. 

* Her name was Salome. In passing over a frozen river, the 
ice broke under her, and chopt off her head, 
f Herod Antipas. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 215 

JESUS WEEPING. 

St. John, xi. 35. 

My dear, Almighty Lord ! why dost thou weep ? 
Why dost thou groan and groan again ? 

And with such deep, 
Repeated sighs thy kinde heart pain? 
Since the same sacred breath, which thus 

Doth mourn for us, 
Can make man's dead and scatter'd bones 
Unite, and raise up all that dyed at once ? 

holy groans ! groans of the Dove ! 
O healing tears ! the tears of love ! 
Dew of the dead ! which makes dust move 
And spring, how is't that you so sadly grieve, 
Who can relieve ? 

Should not thy sighs refrain thy store 

Of tears, and not provoke to more ? 

Since two afflictions may not raign 

In one at one time, as some feign. 

Those blasts, which o'er our heads here stray, 

If showers then fall, will showers allay ; 

As those poor pilgrims oft have tryed, 

Who in this windy world abide. 

Dear Lord ! thou art all grief and love ; 
But which thou art most, none can prove. 



216 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thou griev st, man should himself undo, 
And lov'st him, though he works thy wo. 

'Twas not that vast, almighty measure 

Which is requir'd to make up life, 

Though purchased with thy heart's dear treasure, 

Did breed this strife 
Of grief and pity in thy brest, 
The throne where peace and power rest ; 
But 'twas thy love, that, without leave, 
Made thine eyes melt, and thy heart heave. 
For though death cannot so undo 
What thou hast done ; yea, though man too 
Should help to spoil, thou canst restore 
All better far than 'twas before. 
Yet thou so full of pity art, 
Pity which overflows thy heart, 
That, though the cure of all man's harm 
Is nothing to thy glorious arm, 
Yet canst thou not that free cure do, 
But thou must sorrow for him too. 

Then farewell joys ! for, while I live, 
My business here shall be to grieve : 
A grief tlfat shall outshine all joys 
For mirth and life, yet without noise : 
A grief whose silent dew shall breed 
Lilies and myrrhe, where the curs'd seed 
Did sometimes rule : a grief so bright, 
'Twill make the land of darkness light ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 217 

And, while too many sadly roam, 
Shall send me, swan-like, singing home. 

Psal. lxxiii. 25. 

Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth 
that I desire besides thee. 



PROVIDENCE. 

Sacred and secret hand ! 

By whose assisting, swift command 

The angel shew'd that holy well, 

Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, 
And turn'd to smiles the begging tears 

Of yong, distressed Ishmael. 

How, in a mystick cloud 
Which doth thy strange, sure mercies shroud, 
Doest thou convey man food and money, 
Unseen by him till they arrive 
Just at his mouth, that thankless hive, 
Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey ! 

If I thy servant be, 

Whose service makes ev'n captives free, 

A fish shall all my tribute pay, 

The swift-wing'd raven shall bring me meat, 
And I like flowers shall still go neat, 

As if I knew no month but May. 



218 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

I will not fear what man, 
With all his plots and power, can. 
Bags that wax old may plundered be ; 
But none can sequester or let 
A state that with the sun doth set, 
And comes next morning fresh as he. 

Poor birds this doctrine sing, 
And herbs which on dry hills do spring, 
Or in the howling wilderness 

Do know thy dewy morning hours, 
And watch all night for mists or showers, 
Then drink and praise thy bounteousness. 

May he for ever dye 
Who trusts not thee ! but wretchedly 
Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend 

Thy service nor his soul one day ! 

May his crown, like his hopes, be clay ; 
And, what he saves, may his foes spend ! 

If all my portion here, 
The measure given by thee each year, 
Were by my causless enemies 

Usurp'd, it never should me grieve, 
Who know how well thou canst relieve, 
Whose hands are open as thine eyes. 

Great King of love and truth ! 
Who would'st not hate my froward youth, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 219 

And wilt not leave me when grown old ; 

Gladly will I, like Pontick sheep, 

Unto my wormwood-diet keep, 
Since thou hast made thy arm my fold. 



THE KNOT. 

Bright queen of heaven ! God's virgin spouse ! 

The glad world's blessed maid ! 
Whose beauty tyed life to thy house, 

And brought us saving ayd. 

Thou art the true loves-knot ; by thee 

God is made our allie ; 
And man's inferior essence, he 

With his did dignifie. 

For coalescent by that band 

We are his body grown, 
Nourished with favors from his hand 

Whom for our head we own. 

And such a knot what arm dares loose, 

What life, what death, can sever ? 
Which us in him, and him in us, 

United keeps for ever. 



220 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



THE ORNAMENT. 

The lucky world shewd me one day 
Her gorgeous mart and glittering store, 

Where with proud haste the rich made way 
To buy, the poor came to adore. 

Serious they seem'd, and bought up all 
The latest modes of pride and lust ; 

Although the first must surely fall, 
And the last is most loathsome dust. 

But while each gay, alluring ware, 
With idle hearts and busie looks, 

They viewd, for idleness hath there 
Laid up all her archives and books, 

Quite through their proud and pompous file, 
Blushing, and in meek weeds array'd, 

With native looks which knew no guile, 
Came the sheep-ketping Syrian maid. 

Whom strait the shining row all fac'd, 
Forc'd by her artless looks and dress ; 

While once cryed out, We are disgrac'd ! 
For she is bravest, you confess. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 221 



ST. MARY MAGDALEN. 



Dear, beauteous saint ! more white than day, 
When in his naked, pure array ; 
Fresher than morning flowers, which shew, 
As thou in tears dost, best in dew. 
How art thou chang'd ; how lively fair, 
Pleasing and innocent an air, 
Not tutor'd by thy glass, but free, 
Native, and pure, shines now in thee ! 
But since thy beauty doth still keep 
Bloomy and fresh, why dost thou weep ? 
This dusky state of sighs and tears 
Durst not look on those smiling years, 
When Magdal-castle was thy seat, 
Where all was sumptuous, rare, and neat. 
Why lies this hair despised now, 
Which once thy care and art did shew ? 
Who then did dress the much-lov'd toy, 
In spires, globes, angry curls and coy, 
Which with skill'd negligence seem'd shed 
About thy curious, wilde, young head ? 
Why is this rich, this pjstic nard 
\ Spilt, and Jhe box quite broke and marr'd ? 
What pretty sullenness did haste 
Thy easie hands to do this waste ? 
Why are thou humbled thus, and low 
As earth thy lovely head dost bow ? 



222 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Dear soul ! thou knew'st, flowers here on earth 

At their Lord's footstool have their birth ; 

Therefore thy wither'd self in haste 

Beneath his blest feet thou didst cast, 

That, at the root of this green tree, 

Thy great decays restor'd might be. 

Thy curious vanities and rare, 

Oderous ointments kept with care, 

And dearly bought, when thou didst see 

They could not cure nor comfort thee ; 

£iike a wise, early penitent, 

Thou sadly didst to him present, 

Whose interceding, meek, and calm 

Blood is the world's all-healing balm. 

This, this divine restorative 

Call'd forth thy tears, which ran in live 

And hasty drops, as if they had 

(Their Lord so near) sense to be glad. 

Learn, ladies, here the faithful cure 

Makes beauty lasting, fresh, and pure ; 

Learn Mary's art of tears, and then 

Say, You have got the day from men. 

Cheap, mighty art ! her art of love, 

Who lov'd much, and much more could move ; 

Her art ! whose memory must last 

Till truth through all the world be past ; 

Till his abus'd, despised flame 

Return to heaven from whence it came, 

And send a fire down, that shall bring 

Destruction on his ruddy wing. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 223 

Her art ! whose pensive, weeping eyes 
Were once sin's loose and tempting spies ; 
But now are fixed stars, whose light 
Helps such dark straglers to their sight. 

Self-boasting Pharisee ! how blinde 

A judge wert thou, and how unkinde ! 

It was impossible, that thou, 

Who wert all false, should'st true grief know. 

Is't just to judge her faithful tears 

By that foul rheum thy false eye wears ? < 

" This woman," say'st thou, " is a sinner ! " 
And sate there none such at thy dinner ? 
Go, leper, go ! wash till thy flesh 
Comes like a childe's, spotless and fresh ; 
He is still leprous that still paints : 
Who saint themselves, they are no saints. 



THE RAINBOW. 

Still young and fine ! but what is still in view 
Te slight as old and soil'd, though fresh and new. 
low bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye 
hy burnisht, flaming arch did first descry ! 
When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 
The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, 



224 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Did with intentive looks watch every hour 

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower ! 

When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and 

fair, 
Forms turn to musick, clouds to smiles and air ; 
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours 
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers. 
Bright pledge of peace and sun-shine ! the sure tye 
Of thy Lord's hand, the object* of his eye ! 
When I behold thee, though my light be dim, 
Distant, and low, I can in thine see Him 
Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, 
And mindes the covenant 'twixt all and One. 
foul, deceitful men ! my God doth keep 
His promise still, but we break ours and sleep. 
After the Fall, the first sin was in blood, 
And drunkenness quickly did succeed the flood ; 
But since Christ dyed, (as if we did devise 
To lose him too, as well as paradise,) 
These two grand sins we joyn and act together, 
Though blood and drunkenness make but foul, foul 

weather. 
Water, though both heaven's windows and the deep 
Full forty days o'r the drown'd world did weep, 
Could not reform us ; and blood in despight, 
Yea, God's own blood, we tread upon and slight. 
So those bad daughters, which God sav'd from fire, 
While Sodom yet did smoke lay with their sire. 

* Gen. ix. 16. 



. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 225 



Then peaceful, signal bow, but in a cloud 

Still lodged, where all thy unseen arrows shrowd i 

I will on thee as on a comet look, 

A comet, the sad world's ill-boding book ; 

Thy light as luctual and stain'd with woes 

I'll judge, where penal flames sit mixt and close,, 

But though some think thou shin'st but to restrain 

Bold storms, and simply dost attend on rain ; 

Yet I know well, and so our sins require, 

Thou dost but court cold rain, till rain turns fire. 



THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY. 

St. Mark, iv. 26. 

If this world's friends might see but once 
What some poor man may often feel, 

Glory and gold, and crowns and thrones, 
They would soon quit, and learn to kneel. 

My dew, my dew ! my early love, 

My soul's bright food, thy absence kills ! 

Hover not long, eternal Dove ! 

Life without thee is loose, and spills. 

Something I had, which long ago 
Did learn to suck and sip and taste ; 

But now grown sickly, sad, and slow, 
Doth fret and wrangle, pine and waste. 
Q 



226 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

O spred thy sacred wings, and shake 
One living drop ! one drop life keeps ! 

If pious griefs heaven's joys awake, 
O fill his bottle ! thy childe weeps ! 

Slowly and sadly doth he grow, 

And soon as left shrinks back to ill ; 

O feed that life which makes him blow 
And spred and open to thy will ! 

For thy eternal, living wells 

None stain'd or wither'd shall come near : 
A fresh, immortal green there dwells, 

And spotless white is all the wear. 

Dear, secret greenness ! nurst below ! 

Tempests and windes and winter-nights 
Vex not, that but One sees thee grow, 

That One made all these lesser lights. 

If those bright joys He singly sheds 
On thee, were all met in one crown, 

Both sun and stars would hide their heads ; 
And moons, though full, would get them down. 

Let glory be their bait whose mindes 

Are all too high for a low cell : 
Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, 

The poor bee in her hive must dwell. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 227 

Glory, the croud's cheap tinsel, still 
To what most takes them is a drudge ; 

And they too oft take good for ill, 
And thriving vice for vertue judge. 

What needs a conscience calm and bright 

Within itself an outward test ? 
Who breaks his glass to take more light, 

Makes way for storms into his rest. 

Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch 
At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb ; 

Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, 
Till the white-winged reapers come ! 



AS TIME ONE DAY. 

As time one day by me did pass, 
Through a large dusky glasse 
He held, I chanc'd to look, 
And spyed his curious book 
Of past days, where sad Heav'n did shed 
A mourning light upon the dead. 

Many disordered lives I saw, 

And foul records which thaw 
My kinde eyes still ; but in 
A fair, white page of thin 



228 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

And ev'n, smooth lines, like the sun's rays, 
Thy name was writ, and all thy days. 

bright and happy kalendar ! 

Where youth shines like a star 
All pearl'd with tears, and may 
Teach age the holy way ; 
Where through thick pangs, high agonies, 
Faith into life breaks, and death dies. 

As some meek night-piece, which day quails, 
To candle-light unveils ; 
So by one beauty line 
From thy bright lamp did shine 
In the same page thy humble grave, 
Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave. 

Here slept my thought's dear mark ! which dust 

Seem'd to devour like rust ; 

But dust, I did observe, 

By hiding doth preserve ; 
As we for long and sure recruits, 
Candy with sugar our choice fruits. 

calm and sacred bed, where lies 
In death's dark mysteries 
A beauty far more bright 
Than the noon's cloudless light; 
For whose dry dust green branches bud, 
And robes are bleach'd in the Lamb's blood. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 229 

Sleep, happy ashes ! blessed sleep ! 

While haplesse I still weep ; 

Weep that I have outliv'd 

My life, and unreliev'd 
Must, soul-lesse shadow ! so live on, 
Though life be dead, and my joys gone. 



FAIR AND YONG LIGHT. 

Fair and yong light ! my guide to holy 

Grief, and soul-curing melancholy ; 

Whom living here I did still shun 

As sullen night-ravens do the sun, 

And led by my own foolish fire 

Wandred through darkness, dens, and mire. 

How am I now in love with all 

That I term'd then meer bonds and thrall ! 

And to thy name, which still I keep, 

Like the surviving turtle weep ! 

O bitter, curs'd delights of men ! 

Our soul's diseases first, and then 

Our body's : poysons that intreat 

With fatal sweetness, till we eat ; 

How artfully do you destroy, 

That kill with smiles and seeming joy ! 

If all the subtilties of vice 

Stood bare before unpractic'd eyes, 



230 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

And every act she doth commence 
Had writ down its sad consequence, 
Yet would not men grant, their ill fate 
Lodged in those false looks, till too late. 

holy, happy, healthy heaven, 
Where all is pure, where all is even, 
Plain, harmless, faithful, fair, and bright, 
But what earth breaths against thy light ! 
How blest had men been, had their sire 
LivM still in league with thy chaste fire ; 
Nor made life through her long descents 
A slave to lustful elements ! 

1 did once read in an old book 
Soil'd with many a weeping look, 
That the seeds of foul sorrows be 
The finest things that are to see. 

So that fam'd fruit, which made all dye, 
Seem'd fair unto the woman's eye. 
If these supplanters in the shade 
Of paradise could make man fade, 
How in this world should they deter, 
This world, their fellow-murtherer ! 
And why then grieve we to be sent 
Home by our first fair punishment, 
Without addition to our woes 
And lingring wounds from weaker foes ; 
Since that doth quickly freedom win, 
For he that's dead is freed from sin ? 
O that I were winged and free 
And quite undrest just now with thee, 






OR SACRED POEMS. 231 

Where freed souls dwell by living fountains 
On everlasting, spicy mountains ! 

Alas ! my God ! take home thy sheep ; 

This world but laughs at those that weep. 



THE STONE. 
Josh. xxiv. 27. 

I have it now : 
But where to act that none shall know ; 
Where I shall have no cause to fear 

An eye or ear, 

What man will show ? 
If nights, and shades, and secret rooms, 

Silent as tombs, 
Will not conceal nor assent to 
My dark designs, what shall I do ? 
Man I can bribe, and woman will 
Consent to any gainful ill ; 
But these dumb creatures are so true, 
No gold nor gifts can them subdue. 
u Hedges have ears," saith the old sooth, 
" And ev'ry bush is something's booth ; " 
This cautious fools mistake, and fear 
Nothing but man when ambush'd there. 



282 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But I, alas ! 
Was shown one day in a strange glass 
That busie commerce kept between 
God and his creatures, though unseen. 

They hear, see, speak, 
And into loud discoveries break, 
As loud as blood. Not that God needs 
Intelligence, whose spirit feeds 
All things with life, before whose eye 
Hell and all hearts stark naked lye. 
But * he that judgeth as he hears, 
He that accuseth none, so steers 
His righteous course, that though he knows 
All that man doth, conceals or shows, 
Yet will not he by his own light, 
Though both all-seeing and all right, 
Condemn men ; but will try them by 
A process, which ev'n man's own eye 
Must needs acknowledge to be just. 

Hence sand and dust 
Are shak'd for witnesses, and stones, 
Which some think dead, shall all at once 
With one attesting voice detect 
Those secret sins we least suspect. 
For know, wilde men, that, when you erre, 
Each thing turns scribe and register, 
And, in obedience to his Lord, 
Doth your most private sins record. 



e, 



* John v. 30, 45. 






OR SACRED POEMS. 233 

The law delivered to the Jews, 
Who promis'd much, but did refuse 
Performance, will for that same deed 
Against them by a stone proceed ; 
Whose substance, though 'tis hard enough, 
Will prove their hearts more stiff and tuff. 
But now, since God on himself took 
What all mankinde could never brook, 
If any (for he all invites) 
His easie yoke rejects or slights, 
The gospel then, for 'tis his word, 
And not himself,* shall judge the world, 
Will by loose dust that man arraign, 
As one than dust more vile atnd vain. 



THE DWELLING-PLACE. 

St. John, i. 38, 39. 

What happy, secret fountain, 
Fair shade, or mountain, 
Whose undiscover'd virgin glory 
Boasts it this day, though not in story, 
Was then thy dwelling ? Did some cloud, 
Fix'd to a tent, descend and shrowd 
My distrest Lord ? or did a star, 
Beckon'd by thee, though high and far, 
* St. John, xii. 47, 48. 



234 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In sparkling smiles haste gladly down 

To lodge light and increase her own ? 

My dear, dear God ! I do not know 

What lodged thee then, nor where nor how ; 

But I am sure thou dost now come 

Oft to a narrow, homely room, 

Where thou too hast but the least part ; 

My God, I mean my sinful heart. 



THE MEN OF WAR. 

St. Luke, xxiii. 11. 

" If any have an ear," 
Saith holy John,* " then let him hear ! 
He that into captivity 
Leads others shall a captive be. 
Who with the sword doth others kill, 
A sword shall his blood likewise spill. 
Here is the patience of the saints, 
And the true faith which never faints." 



Were not thy word, dear Lord ! my light, 
How would I run to endless night, 
And persecuting thee and thine, 
Enact for saints myself and mine ! 
But now enlighten'd thus by thee, 
I dare not think such villany ; 
* Kev. xiii. 10. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 235 

Nor for a temporal self-end 

Successful wickedness commend. 

For in this bright, instructing verse 

Thy saints are not the conquerors ; 

But patient, meek, and overcome 

Like thee, when set at naught and dumb. 

Armies thou hast in heaven, which fight 

And follow thee all cloath'd in white ; 

But here on earth, though thou hadst need, 

Thou wouldst no legions, but wouldst bleed. 

The sword wherewith thou dost command 

Is in thy mouth, not in thy hand, 

And all thy saints do overcome 

By thy blood, and their martyrdom. 

But seeing soldiers long ago 

Did spit on thee, and smote thee too ; 

Crown'd thee with thorns, and bow'd the knee, 

But in contempt, as still we see, 

Tie marvel not at ought they do, 

Because they us'd my Savior so ; 

Since of my Lord they had their will, 

The servant must not take it ill. 

Dear Jesus, give me patience here, 
And faith to see my crown as near, 
And almost reach'd, because 'tis sure 
If I hold fast, and slight the lure. 
Give me humility and peace, 
Contented thoughts, innoxious ease, 



236 S1LEX SCINTILLANS, 

A sweet, revengeless, quiet minde, 
And to my greatest haters kinde. 
Give me, my God ! a heart as milde 
And plain, as when I was a childe. 
That when thy throne is set, and all 
These conquerors before it fall, 
I may be found preserved by thee 
Amongst that chosen company, 
Who by no blood here overcame 
But the blood of the blessed Lamb. 



THE ASS. 
St. Matthew, xxi. 

Thou who didst place me in this busie street 

Of flesh and blood, where two ways meet, — 

The one of goodness, peace, and life ; 

The other of death, sin, and strife ; 

Where frail visibles rule the minde, 

And present things finde men most kinde ; 

Where obscure cares the mean defeat, 

And splendid vice destroys the great ; 

As thou didst set no law for me, 

But that of perfect liberty, 

Which neither tyres nor doth corrode, 

But is a pillow, not a load : 



OR SACRED POEMS. 237 

So give me grace ever to rest, 
And build on it because the best ; 
Teach both mine eyes and feet to move 
Within those bounds set by thy love ; 
Grant I may soft and lowly be, 
And minde those things I cannot see ; 
Tye me to faith, though above reason, 
Who question power they speak treason : 
Let me, thy ass, be onely wise 
To carry, not search, mysteries. 
Who carries thee is by thee led ; 
Who argues follows his own head. 
To check bad motions, keep me still 
Amongst the dead, where thriving ill, 
Without his brags and conquests, lies, 
And truth, opprest here, gets the prize. 
At all times, whatsoe'r I do 
Let me not fail to question, who 
Shares in the act, and puts me to't ? 
And if not thou, let not me do't. 
Above all, make me love the poor, 
Those burthens to the rich man's door ; 
Let me admire those, and be kinde 
To low estates and a low minde. 
If the world offers to me nought, 
That by thy book must not be sought, 
Or, though it should be lawful, may 
Prove not expedient for thy way, 
To shun that peril let thy grace 
Prevail with me to shun the place ; 



238 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Let me be wise to please thee still, 

And let men call me what they will. 

When thus thy milde, instructing hand 

Findes thy poor foal at thy command, 

When he from wilde is become wise, 

And slights that most, which men most prize ; 

When all things here to thistles turn 

Pricking his lips, till he doth mourn 

And hang the head, sighing for those 

Pastures of life, where the Lamb goes ; 

O then, just then ! break or untye 

These bonds, this sad captivity, 

This leaden state which men miscal 

Being and life, but is dead thrall. 

And when, O God ! the ass is free, 

In a state known to none but thee, 

O let him by his Lord be led 

To living springs, and there be fed, 

Where light, joy, health, and perfect peace, 

Shut out all pain and each disease ; 

Where death and frailty are forgotten, 

And bones rejoyce, which once were broken ! 




OR SACRED POEMS. 239 



THE HIDDEN TREASURE. 

St. Matt. xiii. 44. 

" What can the man do that succeeds the king ? 
Even what was done before, and no new thing." * 
Who shews me but one grain of sincere light ? 
False stars and fire-drakes, and deceits of night, 
Set forth to fool and foil thee, do not boast ; 
Such coal-flames shew but kitchin-rooms at most. 
And those I saw search'd through ; yea, those and 

all, 
That these three thousand years time did let fall 
To blinde the eyes of lookers-back, and I, 
Now all is done, finde all is vanity. 
Those secret searches which afflict the wise, 
Paths that are hidden from the vultur's eyes, 
I saw at distance, and where grows that fruit 
Which others onely grope for and dispute. 

The world's lov'd wisdom, for the world's friends 
think 
There is none else, did not the dreadful brink 
And precipice it leads to bid me flie, 
None could with more advantage use than I. 

Man's favourite sins, those tainting appetites, 
Which nature breeds, and some fine clay invites, 
With all their soft, kinde arts and easie strains, 
Which strongly operate, though without pains, 
* Ecclesiastes, ii. 12. 



240 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Did not a greater beauty rule mine eyes, 
None would more dote on, nor so soon entice. 
But since these sweets are sowre and poyson'd here, 
Where the impure seeds flourish all the year, 
And private tapers will but help to stray 
Ev'n those who by them would finde out the day, 
Tie seal my eyes up, and to thy commands 
Submit my wilde heart, and restrain my hands ; 
I will do nothing, nothing know, nor see 
But what thou bidst, and shew'st, and teachest me. 
Look what thou gav'st ; all that I do restore, 
But for one thing, thou purchas'd once before. 



CHILDE-HOOD. 

I cannot reach it ; and my striving eye 
Dazles at it, as at eternity. 

Were now that chronicle alive, 
Those white designs which children drive, 
And the thoughts of each harmless hour, 
With their content too in my pow'r, 
Quickly would I make my path even, 
And by meer playing go to heaven. 



Why should men love 
A wolf more than a lamb or dove ? 
Or choose hell-fire and brimstone streams 
Before bright stars and God's own beams ? 



OR SACRED POEMS. 241 

Who kisseth thorns will hurt his face, 
But flowers do both refresh and grace ; 
And sweetly living (fie on men !) 
Are, when dead, medicinal then. 
If seeing much should make staid eyes, 
And long experience should make wise ; 
Since all that age doth teach is ill, 
Why should I not love childe-hood still ? 
Why, if I see a rock or shelf, 
Shall I from thence cast down myself, 
Or, by complying with the world, 
From the same precipice be hurl'd ? 
Those observations are but foul, 
Which make me wise to lose my soul. 

And yet the practice worldlings call 
Business and weighty action all, 
Checking the poor childe for his play,. 
But gravely cast themselves away. 

Dear, harmless age ! the short, swift span^ 
Where weeping virtue parts with man ; 
Where love without lust dwells, and bends 
What way we please without self-ends. 

An age of mysteries ! which he 
Must live twice that would God's face see ; 
Which angels guard, and with it play, 
Angels ! which foul men drive away. 

R 



242 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

How do I study now, and scan 
Thee more than ere I studyed man, 
And onely see through a long night 
Thy edges and thy bordering light ! 
O for thy center and mid-day ! 
For sure that is the narrow way ! 



THE NIGHT. 

John, iii. 2. 

Through that pure virgin-shrine, 
That sacred vail drawn o'er thy glorious noon, 
That men might look and live, as gloworms shine, 
And face the moon, 
Wise Nicodemus saw such light 
As made him know his God by night. 

Most blest believer he ! 
Who in that land of darkness and blinde eyes 
Thy long-expected healing wings could see, 
When thou didst rise ; 
And, what can never more be done, 
Did at midnight speak with the Sun ! 

O who will tell me, where 
He found thee at that dead and silent hour ? 
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear 
So rare a flower ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 243 

Within whose sacred leafs did lie 
The fulness of the Deity ? 

No mercy-seat of gold, 
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carved stone, 
But his own living works, did my Lord hold 
And lodge alone ; 
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep 
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep. 

Dear night ! this world's defeat ; 
The stop to busie fools ; care's check and curb ; 
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat 
Which none disturb ! 
Christ's * progress, and his prayer time ; 
The hours to which high heaven doth chime. 

God's silent, searching flight : 
When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all 
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ; 
His still, soft call ; 
His knocking time ; the soul's dumb watch, 
When spirits their fair kindred catch. 

Were all my loud, evil days 
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent, 
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice 
Is seldom rent ; 

* Mark, i. 35. St. Luke, xxi. 37. 



244 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Then I in heaven all the long year 
Would keep, and never wander here. 

But living where the Sun 
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre 
Themselves and others, I consent and run 
To ev'ry myre ; 
And by this world's ill-guiding light, 
Erre more than I can do by night. 

There is in God, some say, 
A deep, but dazzling darkness ; as men here 
Say it is late and dusky, because they 
See not all clear. 
O for that night ! where I in him 
Might live invisible and dim ! 



ABEL'S BLOOD. 

Sad, purple well ! whose bubling eye 
Did first against a murth'rer cry ; 
Whose streams still vocal, still complain 

Of bloody Cain ; 
And now at evening are as red 
As in the morning when first shed. 

If single thou, 
Though single voices are but low, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 245 

Could'st such a shrill and long cry rear 
As speaks still in thy Maker's ear, 
What thunders shall those men arraign 
Who cannot count those they have slain, 
Who bath not in a shallow flood, 
But in a deep, wide sea of blood ? 
A sea, whose lowd waves cannot sleep, 
But deep still calleth upon deep : 
Whose urgent sound, like unto that 
Of many waters, beateth at 
The everlasting doors above, 
Where souls behinde the altar move, 
And with one strong, incessant cry 
Inquire " How long ? " of the most High ? 

Almighty Judge ! 
At whose just laws no just men grudge ; 
Whose blessed, sweet commands do pour 
Comforts and joys and hopes each hour 
On those that keep them ; accept 
Of his vow'd heart whom thou hast kept 
From bloody men ! and grant I may 
That sworn memorial duly pay 
To thy bright arm, which was my light 
And leader through thick death and night 

Aye may that flood, 
That proudly spilt and despis'd blood, 
Speechless and calm as infants sleep ! 
Or if it watch, forgive and weep 
For those that spilt it ! May no cries 
From the low earth to heaven rise ; 



246 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But what like his, whose blood peace brings, 
Shall, when they rise, speak better things 
Than Abel's doth ! may Abel be 
Still single heard, while these agree 
With his milde blood in voice and will, 
Who pray'd for those that did him kill ! 



RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

Fair, solitary path ! whose blessed shades 

The old, white prophets planted first and drest ; 

Leaving for us, whose goodness quickly fades, 
A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest ; 

Who is the man that walks in thee ? who loves 
Heav'n's secret solitude, those fair abodes 

Where turtles build, and carelese sparrows move, 
Without to-morrow's evils and future loads ? 

Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, 

The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch ? 

Who sees invisibles, and doth comply 

With hidden treasures that make truly rich ? 

He that doth seek and love 

The things above, 

Whose spirit ever poor is meek and low ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 247 

Who simple still and wise, 
Still homewards flies, 
Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow. 

Whose acts, words, and pretence 
Have all one sense, 
One aim and end ; who walks not by his sight : 
Whose eyes are both put out, 
And goes about 
Guided by faith, not by exterior light. 

Who spills no blood, nor spreds 
Thorns in the beds 
Of the distrest, hasting their overthrow ; 
Making the time they had 
Bitter and sad, 
Like chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow. 

Who knows earth nothing hath 
Worth love or wrath, 
But in his hope and rock is ever glad. 
Who seeks and follows peace, 
When with the ease 
] And health of conscience it is to be had. 

Who bears his cross with joy, 
And doth imploy 
His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes ; 
Who lends not to be paid, 
And gives full aid 
Without that bribe which usurers impose. 



248 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Who never looks on man 
Fearful and wan, 
But firmly trusts in God ; the great man's measure, 
Though high and haughty, must 
Be ta'en in dust ; 
But the good man is God's peculiar treasure. 

Who doth thus, and doth not 
These good deeds blot 
With bad, or with neglect ; and heaps not wrath 
By secret filth, nor feeds 
Some snake, or weeds, 
Cheating himself, — that man walks in this path. 



ANGUISH. 

My God and King ! to thee 
I bow my knee ; 
I bow my troubled soul, and greet 
With my foul heart thy holy feet. 
Cast it, or tread it, it shall do 
Even what thou wilt, and praise thee too ! 

My God, could I weep blood, 
Gladly I would ; 
Or if thou wilt give me that art, 
Which through the eyes pours out the heart, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 249 

I will exhaust it all, and make 
Myself all tears, a weeping lake. 

*■ 

! 'tis an easie thing 
To write and sing ; 
But to write true, unfeigned verse 
Is very hard ! O God ! disperse 
These weights, and give my spirit leave 
To act as well as to conceive ! 

O my God, hear my cry, 
Or let me dye ! 



TEARS. 



O when my God, my glory, brings 

His white and holy train 
Unto those clear and living springs 
Where comes no stain ! 

Where all is light, and flowers, and fruit, 

And joy, and rest, 
Make me amongst them, 'tis my suit ! 
The last one and the least. 

And when they all are fed, and have 

Drunk of thy living stream, 
Bid thy poor ass, with tears I crave, 
Drink after them. 



250 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy love claims highest thanks, my sin 

The lowest pitch : 
But if he pays, who loves much, then 
Thou hast made beggers rich. 



JACOB'S PILLOW AND PILLAR. 

I see the temple in thy pillar reared, 

And that dread glory which thy children feared, 

In milde, clear visions, without a frown, 

Unto thy solitary self is shown. 

'Tis number makes a schism : throngs are rude, 

And God himself dyed by the multitude. 

This made him put on clouds, and fire, and smoke ; 

Hence he in thunder to thy offspring spoke. 

The small, still voice at some low cottage knocks, 

But a strong wind must break thy lofty rocks. 

The first true worship of the world's great King 
From private and selected hearts did spring ; 
But he most willing to save all mankinde, 
Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde. 
Hence catholick or universal came 
A most fair notion, but a very name. 
For this rich pearl, like some more common stone, 
When once made publique, is esteem'd by none. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 251 

Man slights his Maker when familiar grown, 
And sets up laws to pull his honor down. 
This God foresaw : and when slain by the crowd 
Under that stately and mysterious cloud 
Which his death scatter'd, he foretold the place 
And form to serve him in should be true grace, 
And the meek heart ; not in a mount, nor at 
Jerusalem, with blood of beasts and fat. 
A heart is that dread place, that awfull cell, 
That secret ark, where the milde Dove doth dwell, 
When the proud waters rage : when heathens rule 
By God's permission, and man turns a mule, 
This little Goshen, in the midst of night, 
And Satan's seat, in all her coasts hath light ; 
Yea, Bethel shall have tithes, saith Israel's stone, 
And vows and visions, though her foes crye, None. 
Thus is the solemn temple sunk agen 
Into a pillar, and conceal'd from men. 
And glory be to his eternal Name, 
Who is contented that this holy flame 
Shall lodge in such a narrow pit, till he 
With his strong arm turns our captivity ! 

But blessed Jacob, though thy sad distress 
Was just the same with ours, and nothing less ; 
For thou a brother, and blood-thirsty too, [wo : 
Didst flye, * whose children wrought thy children's 
Yet thou, in all thy solitude and grief, 
On stones didst sleep, and foundst but cold relief; 
* Obadiah, i. 10. Amos, i. 11. 



252 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thou from the day-star a long way didst stand, 
And all that distance was law and command. 
But we a healing Sun by day and night, 
Have our sure Guardian, and our leading light. 
What thou didst hope for and believe we finde 
And feel, a friend most ready, sure, and kinde. 
Thy pillow was but type and shade at best ; 
But we the substance have, and on him rest. 



THE AGREEMENT. 

I wrote it down. But one, that saw 

And envyed that record, did since 
Such a mist over my minde draw, 
It quite forgot that purpos'd glimpse. 
I read it sadly oft, but still 
Simply believ'd 'twas not my quill. 

At length my life's kinde angel came, 
And with his bright and busie wing 
Scatt'ring that cloud shewd me the flame, 
Which strait like morning-stars did sing, 
And shine, and point me to a place 
Which all the year sees the Sun's face. 

O beamy book ! my mid-day 
Exterminating fears and night ! 




OR SACRED POEMS. 253 

The mount, whose white ascendents may 
Be in conjunction with true light ! 

My thoughts, when towards thee they move, 
Glitter and kindle with thy love. 

Thou art the oyl and the wine-house ; 

Thine are the present healing leaves, 
Blown from the tree of life to us 

By His breath whom my dead heart heaves. 
Each page of thine hath true life in't, 
And God's bright minde exprest in print. 

Most modern books are blots on thee, 
Their doctrine chaff and windy fits, 
Darken'd along, as their scribes be, 

With those foul storms, when they were writ ; 
While the man's zeal lays out and blends 
Onely self-worship and self-ends. 

Thou art the faithful, pearly rock ; 

The hive of beamy, living lights ; 
Ever the same, whose diffus'd stock 
Entire still wears out blackest nights. 
Thy lines are rays the true Sun sheds ; 
Thy leaves are healing wings he spreads. 



For until thou didst comfort me, 
I had not one poor word to say : 

Thick busie clouds did multiply, 
And said I was no childe of day ; 



254 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

They said my own hands did remove 
That candle given me from above. 

O God ! I know and do confess 

My sins are great and still prevail, 
(Most heynous sins and numberless ! ) 
But thy compassions cannot fail. 
If thy sure mercies can be broken, 
Then all is true my foes have spoken. 

But while time runs, and after it 

Eternity which never ends, 
Quite through them both, still infinite, 
Thy covenant by Christ extends ; 
No sins of frailty, nor of youth, 
Can foil his merits, and thy truth. 

And this I hourly finde, for thou 

Dost still renew, and purge and heal : 
Thy care and love, which joyntly flow, 
New cordials, new cathartics deal. 
But were I once cast off by thee, 
I know, my God ! this would not be. 

Wherefore with tears, tears by thee sent, 

I beg my faith may never fail ! 
And when in death my speech is spent, 
O let that silence then prevail ! 
chase in that cold calm my foes, 
And hear my heart's last private throes ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 255 

So thou, who didst the work begin, 

For I till drawn came not to thee,* 
Wilt finish it, and by no sin 

Will thy free mercies hindred be. 
For which, O God ! I onely can 
Bless thee, and blame unthankful man. 



THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT. 

O day of life, of light, of love ! 
The onely day dealt from above ! 
A day so fresh, so bright, so brave, 
Twill shew us each forgotten grave, 
And make the dead, like flowers, arise 
Youthful and fair to see new skies. 
All other days, compar'd to thee, 
Are but light's weak minority ; 
They are but veils, and cyphers drawn 
Like clouds, before thy glorious dawn. 
O come ! arise ! shine ! do not stay, 

Dearly lov'd day ! 
The fields are long since white, and I 
With earnest groans for freedom cry ; 
My fellow-creatures too say, Come ! 
And stones, though speechless, are not dumb. 
When shall we hear that glorious voice 

Of life and joys ? 

* St. John, vi. 44, 65. 



256 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

That voice, which to each secret bed 

Of my Lord's dead, 
Shall bring true day, and make dust see 
The way to immortality ? 
When shall those first white pilgrims rise, 
Whose holy, happy histories, 
Because they sleep so long, some men 
Count but the blots of a vain pen ? 

Dear Lord ! make haste ! 
Sin every day commits more waste ; 
And thy old enemy, which knows 
His time is short, more raging grows. 
Nor moan I onely, though profuse, 
Thy creature's bondage and abuse ; 
But what is highest sin and shame, 
The vile despight done to thy name ; 
The forgeries which impious wit 
And power force on Holy Writ, 
With all detestable designs, 
That may dishonor those pure lines. 
O God ! though mercy be in thee 
The greatest attribute we see, 
And the most needful for our sins ; 
Yet, when thy mercy nothing wins 
But meer disdain, let not man say 
Thy arm doth sleep ; but write this day 
Thy judging one : Descend, descend ! 
Make all things new, and without end ! 






OR SACRED POEMS. 257 



PSALM LXV. 



Sion's true, glorious God ! on thee 
Praise waits in all humility. 
All flesh shall unto thee repair, 
To thee, O thou that hearest prayer ! 
But sinful words and works still spread 
And overrun my heart and head ; 
Transgressions make me foul each day ; 
O purge them, purge them all away ! 

Happy is he whom thou wilt choose 

To serve thee in thy blessed house ! 

Who in thy holy temple dwells, 

And fill'd with joy thy goodness tells ! 

King of salvation ! by strange things 

And terrible thy justice brings 

Man to his duty. Thou alone 

Art the world's hope, and but thee, none. 

Sailors that flote on flowing seas 

Stand firm by thee, and have sure peace. 

Thou still'st the loud waves, when most wild, 

And mak'st the raging people mild. 

Thy arm did first the mountains lay, 

And girds their rocky heads this day. 

The most remote, who know not thee, 

At thy great works astonish'd be. 



258 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

The outgoings of the even and dawn, 

In antiphones sing to thy name : 

Thou visit'st the low earth, and then 

Water'st it for the sons of men ; 

Thy upper river, which abounds 

With fertil streams, makes rich all grounds ; 

And, by thy mercies still supplied, 

The sower doth his bread provide. 

Thou water'st every ridge of land, 

And settlest with thy secret hand 

The furrows of it ; then thy warm 

And opening showers, restrain'd from harm, 

Soften the mould, while all unseen 

The blade grows up alive and green. 

The year is with thy goodness crown'd, 

And all thy paths drop fatness round ; 

They drop upon the wilderness, 

For thou dost even^the desarts bless, 

And hills all full of springing pride, 

Wear fresh adornments on each side. 

The fruitful flocks fill every dale, 

And purling corn doth cloath the vale ; 

They shout for joy, and joyntly sing, 

" Glory to the eternal King ! " 



OR SACRED POEMS. 259 

THE THRONE. 
Rev. xx. 11. 

When with these eyes, clos'd now by thee, 

But then restor'd, 
The great and white throne I shall see 

Of my dread Lord ; 
And lowly kneeling, for the most 

Still then must kneel, 
Shall look on Him at whose high cost 
Unseen such joys I feel. 

Whatever arguments or skill 

Wise heads shall use, 
Tears onely and my blushes still 

I will produce. 
And should those speechless beggers fail, 

Which oft have won, 
Then taught by thee I will prevail, 
And say, " Thy will be done ! " 



DEATH. 

Though since thy first sad entrance by 

Just Abel's blood, 
'Tis now six thousand years well nigh, 
And still thy sovereignty holds good ; 
Yet by none art thou understood. 



260 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

We talk and name thee with much ease, 

As a tryed thing, 
And every one can slight his lease, 
As if it ended in a spring, 
Which shades and bowers doth rent-free bring. 

To thy dark land these heedless go. 

But there was One 
Who search'd it quite through to and fro, 
And then, returning like the sun, 
Discover'd all that there is done. 

And since his death we throughly see 

All thy dark way ; 
Thy shades but thin and narrow be, 
Which his first looks will quickly fray : 
Mists make but triumphs for the day. 



As harmless violets, which give 

Their virtues here 
For salves and syrups while they live, 
Do after calmly disappear, 
And neither grieve, repine, nor fear : 

So dye his servants ; and as sure 

Shall they revive. 
Then let not dust your eyes obscure, 
But lift them up, where still alive, 
Though fled from you, their spirits hive. 





OR SACRED POEMS. 261 



THE FEAST. 



O come away, 

Make no delay, 
Come while my heart is clean and steddy ! 

While faith and grace 

Adorn the place, 
Making dust and ashes ready ! 

No bliss here lent 

Is permanent, 
Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit ; 

Short sips and sights 

Endear delights : 
Who seeks for more he would inherit. 

Come then, true bread, 

Quickning the dead, 
Whose eater shall not, cannot dye ! 

Come, antedate 

On me that state, 
Which brings poor dust the victory. 

Aye victory, 

Which from thine eye 
Breaks as the day doth from the east, 

When the spilt dew 

Like tears doth shew 
The sad world wept to be releast. 



262 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Spring up, O wine, 

And springing shine 
With some glad message from His heart, 

Who did, when slain, 

These means ordain 
For me to have in him a part ! 

Such a sure part 

In his blest heart, 
The well where living waters spring, 

That with it fed 

Poor dust, though dead, 
Shall rise again, and live, and sing. 

O drink and bread, 

Which strikes death dead, 
The food of man's immortal being ! 

Under veyls here 

Thou art my chear, 
Present and sure without my seeing. 

How dost thou flye 

And search and pry 
Through all my parts, and like a quick 

And knowing lamp 

Hunt out each damp, 
Whose shadow makes me sad or sick ! 

O what high joys ! 
The turtle's voice 



OR SACRED POEMS. 263 

And songs I hear ! quickning showers 

Of my Lord's blood, 

You make rocks bud, 
And crown dry hils with wells and flowers ! 

For this true ease 

This healing peace, 
For this brief taste of living glory, 

My soul and all 

Kneel down and fall, 
And sing his sad victorious story ! 

thorny crown 

More soft than down ! 
O painful cross, my bed of rest ! 

spear, the key 

Opening the way ! 
O thy worst state my onely best ! 

all thy griefs 

Are my reliefs, 
As all my sins thy sorrows were ! 

And what can I 

To this reply ? 
What, O God ! but a silent tear ? 

Some toil and sow 
That wealth may flow, 
And dress this earth for next year's meat : 



264 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But let me heed 
Why thou didsted, 
And what in the next world to eat. 

Rev. xix. 9. 






Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the 
Lamb ! 



THE OBSEQUIES. 

Since dying for me, thou didst crave no more 
Than common pay, 
Some few true tears, and those shed for 

My own ill way ; 
With a cheap, plain remembrance still 

Of thy sad death, 
Because forgetfulness would kill 

Even life's own breath : 
I were most foolish and unkinde 

In my own sense, 
Should I not ever bear in minde, 
If not thy mighty love, my own defense. 
Therefore those loose delights and lusts, which here 
Men call good chear, 
I will, close girt and tyed, 
For mourning sackcloth wear all mortified. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 265 

Not but that mourners too can have 

Rich weeds and shrouds ; 
For some wore white ev'n in thy grave, 
And joy, like light, shines oft in clouds : 
But thou, who didst man's whole life earn, 
Dost so invite and woo me still, 
That to be merry I want skill, 

And time to learn. 
Besides, those kerchiefs sometimes shed 

To make me brave, 
I cannot finde, but where thy head 

Was once laid for me in thy grave. 
Thy grave ! to which my thoughts shall move 

Like bees in storms unto their hive ; 
That from the murd'ring world's false love 

Thy death may keep my soul alive. 



THE WATER-FALL. 

With what deep murmurs, through time's silent 

stealth, 
Doth thy transparent, cool, and watry wealth 

Here flowing fall, 

And chide and call, 
As if his liquid, loose retinue staid 
Lingring, and were of this steep place afraid ; 

The common pass, 

Where, clear as glass, 



266 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

All must descend 

Not to an end, 
But quickned by this deep and rocky grave, 
Rise to a longer course more bright and brave. 

Dear stream ! dear bank ! where often I 
Have sate, and pleas'd my pensive eye ; 
Why, since each drop of thy quick store 
Runs thither whence it flow'd before, 
Should poor souls fear a shade or night, 
Who came sure from a sea of light? 
Or since those drops are all sent back 
So sure to thee that none doth lack, 
Why should frail flesh doubt any more 
That what God takes he'll not restore ? 

O useful element and clear ! 
My sacred wash and cleanser here ; 
My first consigner unto those 
Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes ! 
What sublime truths and wholesome themes 
Lodge in thy mystical, deep streams I 
Such as dull man can never finde, 
Unless that Spirit lead his minde, 
Which first upon thy face did move, 
And hatch'd all with his quickning love. 
As this loud brook's incessant fall 
In streaming rings restagnates all, 
Which reach by course the bank, and then 
Are no more seen, just so pass men. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 267 

my invisible estate, 
My glorious liberty, still late ! 
Thou art the channel my soul seeks, 
Not this with cataracts and creeks. 



QUICKNESS. 

False life ! a foil, and no more, when 

Wilt thou begone ? 
Thou foul deception of all men, 
That would not have the true come on ? 

Thou art a moon-like toil ; a blinde 

Self-posing state ; 
A dark contest of waves and winde ; 
A meer tempestuous debate. 

Life is a nVd, discerning light, 

A knowing joy ; 
No chance, or fit : but ever bright 
And calm and full, yet doth not cloy. 

'Tis such a blissful thing, that still 

Doth vivifie, 
And shine and smile, and hath the skill 
To please without eternity. 



268 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thou art a toylsom mole, or less 

A moving mist : 
But life is, what none can express, 
A quickness, which my God hath kist. 



THE WREATH. 

Since I in storms us'd most to be, 

And seldom yielded flowers, 
How shall I get a wreath for thee 

From those rude, barren hours ? 
The softer dressings of the spring, 

Or summer's later store, 
I will not for thy temples bring, 

Which thorns, not roses, wore. 

But a twin'd wreath of grief and praise, 
Praise soil'd with tears, and tears again 
Shining with joy, like dewy days, 
This day I bring for all thy pain ; 
Thy causless pain ! and, sad as death, 
Which sadness breeds in the most vain, 
(0 not in vain !) now beg thy breath, 
Thy quickning breath, which gladly bears 
Through saddest clouds to that glad place, 
Where cloudless quires sing without tears, 
Sing thy just praise, and see thy face. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 269 



THE QUEER. 



tell me whence that joy doth spring, 
Whose diet is divine and fair, 

Which wears heaven like a bridal ring, 
And tramples on doubts and despair ? 

Whose eastern traffique deals in bright 
And boundless empyrean themes, 

Mountains of spice, day-stars and light, 
Green trees of life, and living streams ? 

Tell me, O tell^ who did thee bring, 

And here without my knowledge plac'd, 

Till thou didst grow and get a wing, 
A wing with eyes, and eyes that taste ? 

Sure, holyness the magnet is, 

And love the lure that woos thee down ; 
Which makes the high transcendent bliss 

Of knowing thee, so rarely known ! 



THE BOOK. 

Eternal God ! Maker of all 
That have liv'd here since the man's fall ! 
The Rock of ages ! in whose shade 
They live unseen, when here they fade ! 



270 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thou knew'st this papyr, when it was 

Meer seed, and after that but grass ; 

Before 'twas drest or spun, and when 

Made linen, who did wear it then : 

What were their lifes, their thoughts and deeds, 

Whether good corn or fruitless weeds. 

Thou knew'st this tree, when a green shade 
Cover'd it since a cover made, 
And where it flourish'd, grew, and spread, 
As if it never should be dead. 

Thou knew'st this harmless beast, when he 

Did live and feed by thy decree 

On each green thing ; then slept well fed 

Cloath'd with this skin, which now lies spred 

A covering o're this aged book, 

Which makes me wisely weep, and look 

On my own dust ; meer dust it is, 

But not so dry and clean as this. 

Thou knew'st and saw'st them all, and though 

Now scatter'd thus, dost know them so. 

knowing, glorious Spirit! when 
Thou shalt restore trees, beasts, and men ; 
When thou shalt make all new again, 
Destroying onely death and pain ; 
Give him amongst thy works a place, 
Who in them lov'd and sought thy face ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 271 



TO THE HOLY BIBLE. 

O book ! life's guide ! how shall we part, 
And thou so long seiz'd of my heart ? 
Take this last kiss ; and let me weep 
True thanks to thee before I sleep. 

Thou wert the first put in my hand, 

When yet I could not understand, 

And daily didst my yong eyes lead 

To letters, till I learnt to read. 

But as rash youths, when once grown strong, 

Flye from their nurses to the throng, 

Where they new consorts choose, and stick 

To those till either hurt or sick ; 

So with that first light gain'd from thee 

Ran I in chase of vanity, 

Cryed dross for gold, and never thought 

My first cheap book had all I sought. 

Long reign'd this vogue ; and thou cast by 

With meek, dumb looks didst woo mine eye, 

And oft left open would'st convey 

A sudden and most searching ray 

Into my soul, with whose quick touch 

Refining still I strugled much. 

By this milde art of love at length 

Thou overcam'st my sinful strength, 

And having brought me home, didst there 

Shew me that pearl I sought elsewhere. 



272 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Gladness, and peace, and hope, and love, 

The secret favors of the Dove ; 

Her quickning kindness, smiles and kisses, 

Exalted pleasures, crowning blisses, 

Fruition, union, glory, life 

Thou didst lead to, and still all strife. 

Living, thou wert my soul's sure ease, 

And dying mak'st me go in peace : 

Thy next effects no tongue can tell ; 

Farewel, O book of God ! farewel ! 

St. Luke, ii. 14. 

Glory be to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good mil 
towards men. 



L'ENVOY. 



O the new world's new-quickning Sun ! 
Ever the same, and never done ! 
The seers of whose sacred light 
Shall all be drest in shining white, 
And made conformable to His 
Immortal shade, who wrought their bliss ; 

Arise, arise ! 
And like old cloaths fold up these skies, 
This long- worn veyl : then shine and spread 
Thy own bright self over each head, 
And through thy creatures pierce and pass, 
Till all becomes thy cloudless glass, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 273 

Transparent as the purest day 

And without blemish or decay, 

Fixt by thy spirit to a state 

For evermore immaculate ; 

A state fit for the sight of thy 

Immediate, pure and unveil'd eye, 

A state agreeing with thy minde, 

A state by birth and death design'd ; 

A state for which thy creatures all 

Travel and groan, and look and call. 

O seeing thou hast paid our score, 

Why should the curse reign any more ? 

But since thy number is as yet 

Unfinish'd, we shall gladly sit 

Till all be ready, that the train 

May fully fit thy glorious reign. 

Onely, let not our haters brag 

Thy seamdless coat is grown a rag, 

Or that thy truth was not here known, 

Because we forc'd thy judgements down. 

Dry up their arms who vex thy spouse, 

And take the glory of thy house 

To deck their own ; then give thy saints 

That faithful zeal, which neither faints, 

Nor wildly burns, but meekly still 

Dares own the truth, and shew the ill. 

Frustrate those cancerous, close arts, 

Which cause solution in all parts, 

And strike them dumb, who for meer words 

Wound thy beloved more than swords. 

T 



274 SILEX SCINTILLANS. 

Dear Lord, do this ! and then let grace 
Descend, and hallow all the place. 
Incline each hard heart to do good, 
And cement us with thy Son's blood ; 
That, like true sheep, all in one fold 
We may be fed, and one minde hold. 
Give watchful spirits to our guides ; 
For sin like water hourly glides 
By each man's door, and quickly will 
Turn in, if not obstructed still. 
Therefore write in their hearts thy law, 
And let these long, sharp judgements awe 
Their very thoughts, that by their clear 
And holy lives mercy may here 
Sit regent yet, and blessings flow 
As fast as persecutions now. 
So shall we know in war and peace 
Thy service to be our sole ease, 
With prostrate souls adoring thee, 
Who turn'd our sad captivity ! 

S. Clemens apud Basil: 

Xt) 6 Qebg, ml 6 nvpiog Irjoovg Xpicrbg, 
kcll rb 7Tvevfj,a to uycov. 



THALIA REDIVIVA. 

PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS. 
PART m. 



PIOUS THOUGHTS AND 
EJACULATIONS. 



FROM A VOLUME ENTITLED " THALIA REDIVIVA. 



TO HIS BOOKS. 

Bright books ! the perspectives to our weak sights, 
The clear projections of discerning lights. 
Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day, 
The track of fled souls, and their milkie way, 
The dead alive and busie, the still voice 
Of enlarged spirits, kind Heaven's white decoys ! 
Who lives with you lives like those knowing flowers, 
Which in commerce with light spend all their hours ; 
Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun, 
But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun. 
Beneath you all is dark, and a dead night, 
Which whoso lives in wants both health and sight. 

By sucking you, the wise, like bees, do grow 
Healing and rich, though this they do most slow, 
Because most choicely ; for as great a store 
Have we of books as bees of herbs, or more : 



278 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

And the great task to try, then know, the good, 
To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food, 
Is a rare scant performance. For man dyes 
Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flyes. 
But you were all choice flowers ; all set and dressed 
By old sage florists, who well knew the best ; 
And I amidst you all am turned a weed, 
Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed. 
Then thank thyself, wild fool, that would'st not be 
Content to know — what was too much for thee ! 



LOOKING BACK. 

Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage, 

And flowery vales, whose flowers were stars ! 
The days and nights of my first happy age, 

An age without distaste or warrs ! 
When I by thought ascend your sunny heads, 

And mind those sacred midnight lights 
By which I walked, when curtained rooms and beds 

Confined or sealed up other's sights ; 

O then how bright and quick a light 
Doth brush my heart and scatter night ! 
Chasing that shade which my sins made, 
While I so spring, as if I could not fade. 



AND EJACULATIONS. 279 

How brave a prospect is a traversed plain, 
Where flowers and palms refresh the eye ! 

And days well spent like the glad East remain, 
Whose morning glories cannot dye. 



THE SHOWER. 

Waters above ! eternal springs ! 

The dew that silvers the Dove's wings ! 

O welcome, welcome, to the sad ! 

Give dry dust drink, drink that makes glad. 

Many fair evenings, many flowers 

Sweetened with rich and gentle showers, 

Have I enjoyed ; and down have run 

Many a fine and shining sun ; 

But never, till this happy hour, 

Was blest with such an evening shower ! 



DISCIPLINE. 

Fair Prince of life ! light's living well ! 
Who hast the keys of death and hell ; 
If the mule man despise thy day, 
Put chains of darkness in his way. 
Teach him how deep, how various, are 
The counsels of thy love and care. 



280 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

When acts of grace, and a long peace, 
Breed but rebellion, and displease, 
Then give him his own way and will, 
Where lawless he may run, until 
His own choice hurts him, and the sting 
Of his foul sin full sorrows bring. 
If heaven and angels, hopes and mirth, 
Please not the mole so much as earth, 
Give him his mine to dig, or dwell, 
And one sad scheme of hideous hell. 






THE ECCLIPSE. 

Whither, whither didst thou fly ? 
When did I grieve thy holy eye ? 
When thou didst mourn to see me lost, 
And all thy care and counsels crost. 
O do not grieve, whereer thou art ! 
Thy grief is an undoing smart, 
Which doth not only pain, but break, 
My heart, and makes me blush to speak. 
Thy anger I could kiss, and will ; 
But thy grief, thy grief, doth kill ! 



AND EJACULATIONS. 281 



AFFLICTION. 



O come, and welcome ! come, refine ! 
For Moors, if washed by thee, will shine. 
Man blossoms at thy touch, and he, 
When thou drawst blood, is thy rose-tree. 
Crosses make straight his crooked ways, 
And clouds but cool his dog-star days ; 
Diseases, too, when by thee blessed, 
Are both restoratives and rest. 

Flowers, that in sunshine riot still, 
Dye scorch'd and sapless ; though storms kill. 
The fall is fair even to desire 
Where in their sweetness all expire. 
O come, pour on ! what calms can be 
So fair as storms that appease thee ? 



RETIREMENT. 

Fresh fields and woods ! the earth's fair face ! 
God's footstool ! and man's dwelling-place ! 
I ask not why the first believer * 
Did love to be a country liver, 
Who to secure pious content 
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent, 
* Abraham. 



282 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Where he might view the boundless skie, 
And all these glorious lights on high, 
With flying meteors, mists, and showers, 
Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flowers, 
And every minute bless the King 
And wise Creator of each thing. 

I ask not why he did remove 

To happy Mamre's holy grove, 

Leaving the cities of the plain 

To Lot and his successless train. 

All various lusts in cities still 

Are found ; they are the thrones of ill ; 

The dismal sinks where blood is spilled, 

Cages with much uncleanness filled. 

But rural shades are the sweet sense 

Of piety and innocense ; 

They are the meek's calm region, where 

Angels descend and rule the sphere ; 

Where heaven lies leaguer, and the Dove 

Duely as dew comes from above. 

If Eden be on earth at all, 

Tis that which we the country call. 



AND EJACULATIONS. 283 



THE REVIVAL. 



Unfold ! unfold ! take in His light, 
Who makes thy cares more short than night. 
The joyes which with his day-star rise 
He deals to all but drowsie eyes ; 
And (what the men of this world miss) 
Some drops and dews of future bliss. 

Hark ! how the winds have changed their note, 
And with warm whispers call thee out ! 
The frosts are past, the storms are gone, 
And backward life at last comes on. 
The lofty groves, in express joyes, 
Eeply unto the turtle's voice ; 
And here, in dust and dirt, O here, 
The lilies of his love appear ! 



THE DAY SPRING. 

Early, while yet the dark was gay 
And gilt with stars, more trim than day, 
Heaven's Lily, and the earth's chaste Rose, 
The green, immortal Branch, arose, 
And in a solitary place 
Bowed to his Father his blest face. 



284 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

If this calm season pleased my Prince, 

Whose fulness no need could evince, 

Why should not I, poor silly sheep, 

His hours, as well as practice, keep ? 

Not that His hand is tyed to these, 

From whom time holds his transient lease ; 

But mornings new creations are, 

When men, all night saved by his care, 

Are still revived ; and well he may 

Expect them grateful with the day. 

So for that first draught of his hand, 

Which finished heaven, and sea, and land, 

The sons of God their thanks did bring, 

And all the morning stars did sing. 

Besides, as his part heretofore 

The firstlings were of all that bore, 

So now each day, from all he saves, 

Their souls' first thoughts and fruits he craves 

This makes him daily shed and shower 

His graces at this early hour ; 

Which both his care and kindness shew, 

Cheering the good, quickening the slow. 

As holy friends mourn at delay, 

And think each minute an hour's stay, 

So his divine and loving Dove 

With longing throes doth heave and move, 

And soare about us, while we sleep, 

Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep 

And shine, but always without fail 

Before the slow scene can unveile, 




AND EJACULATIONS. 285 

In new compassions breaks, like light, 
And morning looks which scatter night. 
And wilt thou let thy creature be, 
Where thou hast watched, asleep to thee ? 
Why to unwelcome, loathed surprizes 
Dost leave him, having left his vices ? 
Since these, if suffered, may again 
Lead back the living to the slain. 
change this scourge ; or if as yet 
None less will my transgressions fit, 
Dissolve, dissolve ! Death cannot do 
What I would not submit unto. 



THE RECOVERY. 

Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud 
And previous glories gild that blushing cloud ; 
Whose lively fires in swift projections glance 
From hill to hill, and by refracted chance 
Burnish some neighbour rock or tree, and then 
Fly off in coy and winged flames again, — 
If thou this day 
Hold on thy way, 
Know I have got a greater light than thine ; 
A light whose shade and back parts thee outshine. 

Then get thee down ! then get thee down ! 

I have a Sun now of my own. 



286 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Those nicer livers, who without thy rays 
Stir not abroad, those may thy lustre praise ; 
And wanting light, light which no wants doth know, 
To thee, weak shiner, like blind Persians bow. 
But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head, 
From his own bright eternal eye doth shed 
One living ray, 
There thy dead day 
Is needless. Man is to a light made free, 
Which shews what thou canst neither shew nor see ! 

Then get thee down ! then get thee down ! 

I have a Sun now of my own. 



THE NATIVITY. 

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1656. 

Peace ! and to all the world ! Sure One, 

And he the Prince of peace, hath none ! 

He travails to be born, and then 

Is born to travail more again. 

Poor Galilee, thou cans't not be 

The place for his nativity. 

His restless mother's called away, 

And not delivered till she pay. 

A tax ? 'tis so still. We can see 
The church thrive in her misery, 



AND EJACULATIONS. 287 

And, like her head at Bethlehem, rise, 
"When she oppressed with troubles lyes. 
Rise ? — Should all fall, we cannot be 
In more extremities than he. 
Great Type of passions ! come what will, 
Thy grief exceeds all copies still : 
Thou cam'st from heaven to earth, that we 
Might go from earth to heaven with thee ; 
And though thou found'st no welcome here, 
Thou didst provide us mansions there. 
A stable was thy court, and when 
Men turned to beasts, beasts would be men : 
They were thy courtiers ; others none ; 
And their poor manger was thy throne. 
No swadling silks thy limbs did fold, 
Though thou could'st turn thy rags to gold. 
No rockers waited on thy birth, 
No cradles stirred, nor songs of mirth ; 
But her chaste lap and sacred breast, 
Which lodged thee first, did give thee rest. 
But stay ! what light is that doth stream 
And drop here in a gilded beam? 
It is tixy star runs page, and brings 
Thy tributary eastern kings. 
Lord ! grant some light to us, that we 
May find with them the way to thee ! 
Behold what mists eclipse the day ! 
How dark it is ! Shed down one ray, 
To guide us out of this dark night ; 
And say once more, " Let there be light ! " 



288 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

THE TRUE CHRISTMAS. 

So, stick up ivie and the bays, 
And then restore the heathen ways. 
Green will remind you of the spring, 
Though this great day denies the thing ; 
And mortifies the earth, and all 
But your wild revels, and loose hall. 
Could you wear flowers, and roses strow 
Blushing upon your breast's warm snow, 
That very dress your lightness will 
Rebuke, and wither at the ill. 
The brightness of this day we owe 
Not unto music, masque, nor showe ; 
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate, 
But to the manger's mean estate. 
His life while here, as well as birth, 
Was but a check to pomp and mirth ; 
And all man's greatness you may see 
Condemned by his humility. 

Then leave your open house and noise, 
To welcome him with holy joys, 
And the poor shepherds' watchfulness ; 
Whom light and hymns from heaven did bless. 
What you abound with, cast abroad 
To those that want, and ease your loade. 
Who empties thus will bring more in ; 
But riot is both loss and sin. 
Dress finely what comes not in sight, 
And then you keep your Christmas right ! 



AND EJACULATIONS. 289 



THE REQUEST. 



thou who didst deny to me 

This world's adored felicity, 

And every big, imperious lust, 

Which fools admire in sinful dust, 

With those fine subtle twists that tye 

Their bundles of foul gallantry, — 

Keep still my weak eyes from the shine 

Of those gay things which are not thine ! 

And shut my ears against the noise 

Of wicked, though applauded, joys ! 

For thou in any land hast store 

Of shades and coverts for thy poor ; 

Where from the busie dust and heat, 

As well as storms, they may retreat. 

A rock or bush are downy beds, 

When thou art there, crowning their heads 

With secret blessings, or a tire 

Made of the Comforter's live fire. 

And when thy goodness, in the dress 

Of anger, will not seem to bless, 

Yet dost thou give them that rich rain, 

Which, as it drops, clears all again. 

O what kind visits daily pass 
'Twixt thy great self and such poor grass ! 
With what Sweet looks doth thy love shine 
On those low violets of thine, 
u 



290 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

While the tall tulip is accurst, 
And crowns imperial dye with thirst ! 
O give me still those secret meals, 
Those rare repasts which thy love deals ! 
Give me that joy which none can grieve, 
And which in all griefs doth releive. 
This is the portion thy child begs ; 
Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs. 



THE WORLD. 

Can any tell me what it is ? Can you, 
That wind your thoughts into a clue, 
To guide out others, while yourselves stay in, 

And hug the sin ? 
I that so long in it have lived, 

That, if I might, 
In truth I would not be reprieved, 

Have neither sight 

Nor sense that knows 

These ebbs and flows ; 
But since of all, all may be said, 
And likeliness doth but upbraid 
And mock the truth, which still is lost 
In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost; 
I will not strive, nor the rule break, 
Which doth give losers leave to speak. 



AND EJACULATIONS. 291 

Then false and foul world, and unknown 

Even to thy own, 
Here I renounce thee, and resign 
Whatever thou canst say is thine. 

Thou art not Truth ! for he that tries 

Shall find thee all deceit and lyes. 

Thou art not Friendship ! for in thee 

'Tis but the bait of policie ; 

Which, like a viper lodged in flowers, 

Its venom through that sweetness pours ; 

And when not so, then always 'tis 

A fading paint, the short-lived bliss 

Of air and humour, out and in, 

Like colors in a dolphin's skin ; 

But must not live beyond one day, 

Or for convenience, then away. 

Thou art not Eiches ! for that trash, 

Which one age hoards, the next doth wash, 

And so severely sweep away, 

That few remember where it lay. 

So rapid streams the wealthy land 

About them have at their command ; 

And shifting channels here restore, 

There break down what they banked before. 

Thou art not Honour ! for those gay 

Feathers will wear and drop away ; 

And princes to some upstart line 

Give new ones, that are full as fine. 



292 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Thou art not Pleasure ! for thy rose 
Upon a thorn doth still repose, 
Which, if not cropt, will quickly shed, 
But soon as cropt grows dull and dead. 

Thou art the sand which fills one glass, 
And then doth to another pass ; 
And could I put thee to a stay, 
Thou art but dust ! Then go thy way, 
And leave me clean and bright, though poor ; 
Who stops thee doth but daub his floor ; 
And, swallow like, when he hath done, 
To unknown dwellings must be gone. 

Welcome, pure thoughts and peaceful hours, 

Enriched with sunshine and with showers ! 

Welcome fair hopes and holy cares, 

The not to be repented shares 

Of time and business, the sure road 

Unto my last and loved abode ! 

O supreme Bliss ! 
The circle, center, and abyss 
Of blessings, never let me miss 
Nor leave that path which leads to thee, 
Who art alone all things to me ! 
1 hear, I see, all the long day, 
The noise and pomp of the " broad way." 
I note their coarse and proud approaches, 
Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches. 









AND EJACULATIONS. 293 

But, in the " narrow way " to thee, 
I observe only poverty, 
And despised things ; and, all along, 
The ragged, mean, and humble throng 
Are still on foot ; and, as they go, 
They sigh, and say their Lord went so ! 

Give me my staff, then, as it stood 
When green and growing in the wood. 
The stones, which for the altar served, 
Might not be smoothed nor finely carved. 
With this poor stick I'll pass the ford, 
As Jacob did ; and thy dear word, 
As thou hast dressed it, not as wit 
And depraved tastes have poison'd it, 
Shall in the passage be my meat, 
And none else shall thy servant eat. 
Thus, thus, and in no other sort, 
Will I set forth, though laughed at for't ; 
And, leaving the wise world their way, 
Go through, though judged to go astray. 



294 PIOUS THOUGHTS 



THE BEE. 

From fruitful beds and flowery borders, 

Parcelled to wasteful ranks and orders, 

Where state grasps more than plain truth needs, 

And wholesome herbs are starved by weeds, 

To the wild woods I will be gone, 

And the coarse meals of great Saint John. 

When truth and piety are missed, 

Both in the rulers and the priest ; 

When pity is not cold, but dead, 

And the rich eat the poor like bread ; 

While factious heads, with open coile 

And force, first make, then share, the spoile ; 

To Horeb then Elias goes, 

And in the desart grows the rose. 

Haile, chrystal fountaines and fresh shades, 

Where no proud look invades, 

No busie worldling hunts away 

The sad retirer all the day ! 

Haile, happy, harmless solitude ! 

Our sanctuary from the rude 

And scornful world ; the calm recess 

Qf faith, and hope, and holiness ! 

Here something still like Eden looks ; 

Honey in woods, juleps in brooks ; 



AND EJACULATIONS. 295 

And flowers, whose rich, unrifled sweets 
With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets, 
When the toyls of the day are done, 
And the tired world sets with the sun. 
Here flying winds and flowing wells 
Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells ; 
Their busie murmurs all the night 
To praise or prayer do invite ; 
And with an awful sound arrest, 
And piously employ his breast. 

When in the East the dawn doth blush, 
Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush. 
Herbs strait get up ; flowers peep and spread ; 
Trees whisper praise, and bow the head ; 
Birds, from the shades of night released, 
Look round about, then quit the nest, 
And with united gladness sing 
The glory of the morning's King. 
The hermit hears, and with meek voice 
Ofiers his own up, and their, joyes ; 
Then prays that all the world might be 
Blest with as sweet an unity. 

If sudden storms the day invade, 
They flock about him to the shade, 
Where wisely they expect the end, 
Giving the tempest time to spend ; 
And hard by shelters on some bough 
Hilarion's servant, the sage crow. 



296 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

O purer years of light and grace ! 
Great is the difference, as the space, 
'Twixt you and us, Ivho blindly run 
After false fires, and leave the sun. 
Is not fair nature of herself 
Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 
And are not streams at the spring head 
More sweet than in carved stone or lead ? 
But fancy and some artist's tools 
Frame a religion for fools. 

The truth, which once was plainly taught, 
With thorns and briars now is fraught. 
Some part is with bold fables spotted, 
Some by strange comments wildly blotted ; 
And discord, old corruption's crest, 
With blood and blame have stained the rest. 
So snow, which in its first descents 
A whiteness like pure heaven presents, 
When touched by man is quickly soiled, 
And after trodden down and spoiled. 

O lead me where I may be free 
In truth and spirit to serve Thee ! 
Where undisturbed I may converse 
With thy great Self; and there rehearse 
Thy gifts with thanks ; and from thy store, 
Who art all blessings, beg much more. 
Give me the wisdom of the bee, 
And her unwearied Industrie ! 




AND EJACULATIONS. 297 

That, from the wild gourds of these days, 
I may extract health, and thy praise, 
Who canst turn darkness into light, 
And in my weakness shew thy might. 

Suffer me not in any want 
To seek refreshment from a plant 
Thou didst not set ; since all must be 
Plucked up, whose growth is not from thee. 
'Tis not the garden and the bowers, 
Nor sense and forms, that give to flowers 
Their wholesomeness ; but thy good will, 
Which truth and pureness purchase still. 

Then, since corrupt man hath driven hence 

Thy kind and saving influence, 

And balm is no more to be had 

In all the coasts of Gilead ; 

Go with me to the shade and cell, 

Where thy best servants once did dwell. 

There let me know thy will, and see 

Exiled religion owned by thee ; 

For thou canst turn dark grots to halls, 

And make hills blossome like the vales, 

Decking their untilled heads with flowers, 

And fresh delights for all sad hours ; 

Till from them, like a laden bee, 

I may fly home, and hive with thee ! 



298 PIOUS THOUGHTS 



TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION. 

Farewell, thou true and tried refection 

Of the still poor and meek election ! 

Farewell, soul's joy, the quickening health 

Of spirits, and their surest wealth ! 

Farewell, my morning star, the bright 

And dawning looks of the true light! 

O blessed shiner, tell me whither 

Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither ! 

A seer that observed thee in 

Thy course, and watched the growth of sin, 

Hath given his judgment, and foretold, 

That westward hence thy course will hold ; 

And, when the day with us is done, 

There fix and shine a glorious sun. 

O hated shades and darkness ! when 

You have got here the sway again, 

And like unwholesome fogs withstood 

The light, and blasted all that's good, 

Who shall the happy shepherds be 

To watch the next nativity 

Of truth and brightness, and make way 

For the returning rising day ? 

O what year will bring back our bliss ? 

Or who shall live, when God doth this ? 

Thou Rock of ages ! and the Rest 
Of all that for thee are oppressed ? 



AND EJACULATIONS. 299 

Send down the Spirit of thy truth ; 

That Spirit which the tender youth, 

And first growths of thy spouse, did spread 

Through all the world from one small head ! 

Then, if to blood we must resist, 

Let thy mild Dove, and our High Priest, 

Help us, when man proves false, or frowns, 

To bear the cross, and save our crowns. 

O honour those that honour thee ! 

Make babes to still the enemie ! 

And teach an infant of few days 

To perfect by his death thy praise ! 

Let none defile what thou didst wed, 

Nor tear the garland from her head ! 

But chaste and cheerful let her dye, 

And precious in the Bridegroom's eye ! 

So, to thy glory, and her praise, 

These last shall be her brightest dayes. 

Eev. xxii. 17. 
" The Spirit and the Bride say, Come." 



300 PIOUS THOUGHTS 



DAPHNIS, AN ELEGIAC ECLOGUE. 

ON THE DEATH OF THE EEV. THOMAS VAUGHAN. 

The Interlocutors, — Damon, Menalcas. 

DAMON. 

What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow ? 
Flowers in a sunshine never look so low : 
Is Nisa still cold flint ? or have thy lambs 
Met with the fox by straying from their dams? 

MENALCAS. 

Ah, Damon, no ! my lambs are safe ; and she 
Is kind, and much more white than they can be. 
But what doth life, when most serene, afford 
Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd ? 
Our days of gladness are but short reliefs, 
Given to reserve us for enduring griefs : 
So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break 
Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks where weak. 
I heard last May, and May is still high spring, 
The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing. 
The green wood glittered with the golden sun, 
And all the west like silver shined ; not one 
Black cloud appeared ; no rags, no spot did stain 
The welkin's beauty ; nothing frowned like rain. 



AND EJACULATIONS. 301 

But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turned 
To fierce dark showers ; the air with lightnings 

burned ; 
The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppressed, 
Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast. 
I saw her next day on her last cold bed : 
And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead ! 



So violets, so doth the primrose, fall, 
At once the spring's pride and its funeral. 
Such early sweets get off still in their prime, 
And stay not here to wear the foil of time ; 
While coarser flowers, which none would miss, if 

past, 
To scorching summers and cold autumns last. 

MENALCAS. 

Souls need not time. The early forward things 
Are always fledged, and gladly use their wings. 
Or else great parts, when injured, quit the crowd, 
To shine above still, not behind, the cloud. 
And is't not just to leave those to the night 
That madly hate and persecute the light ? 
Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, 
And inwardly are true black Moores indeed ? 



The punishment still manifests the sin, 
As outward signs shew the disease within. 



302 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

While worth oppressed mounts to a nobler height, 
And palm-like bravely overtops the weight. 
So, where sweet Isca, from our lofty hills, 
With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills 
A wider channel, like some great port-vein 
With large rich streams to feed the humble plain, 
I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade, 
Projected far, a goodly shelter made ; 
And from the top, with thick diffused boughs, 
In distant rounds grew like a wood nymph's 

house. 
Here many garlands, won at roundel-lays, 
Old shepherds hung up in those happy days ; 
With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress 
Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless. 
And many times had old Amphion made 
His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade ; 
His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white 
As those the welkin shows in moonshine night. 
Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I 
In dark records and numbers nobly high 
The visions of our black, but brightest, bard 
From old Amphion's mouth full often heard ; 
With all those plagues poor shepherds since have 

known, 
And riddles more which future times must own : 
While on his pipe young Hylas plaid, and made 
Music as solemn as the song and shade. 
But the curst owner from the trembling top 
To the firm brink did all those branches lop ; 



AND EJACULATIONS. 303 

And in one hour wnat many years had bred, 
The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead. 
The undone swains in sad songs mourned their loss, 
While storms and cold winds did encrease the 

cross ; 
But nature, which, like virtue, scorns to yield, 
Brought new recruits and succours to the field ; 
For by next spring the checked sap waked from 

sleep, 
And upwards still to feel the sun did creep ; 
Till at those wounds the hated hewer made, 
There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade. 

MENALCAS. 

So thrives afflicted truth ; and so the light, 
When put out, gains a value from the night. 
How glad are we, when but one twinkling star 
Peeps between clouds more black than is our tar ! 
And Providence was kind, that ordered this 
To the brave sufferer should be solid bliss ; 
Nor is it so till this short life be done, 
But goes hence with him, and is still his sun. 



Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays 
Refresh his dust, who loved your learned lays. 
Bring here the florid glories of the spring, 
And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing ; 
Which to your children and the years to come 
May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb. 



304 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn, 
My tears, not gifts^; and like the poor, that mourn 
With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearse 
For false foul prose-men this fair truth in 
verse : — 

" Here Daphnis sleeps ; and, while the great watch 

goes 
" Of loud and restless time, takes his repose. 
" Fame is but noise ; all learning is but thought ; 
" Which one admires, another sets at nought. 
" Nature mocks both, and wit still keeps adoe ; 
" But death brings knowledge and assurance too." 

MENALCAS. 

Cast in your garlands ! strew on all the flowers, 
Which May with smiles or April feeds with 

showers : 
Let this day's rites, as steadfast as the sun, 
Keep pace with time, and through all ages run ; 
The public character and famous test 
Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest. 
And, when we make procession on the plains, 
Or yearly keep the holyday of swains, 
Let Daphnis still be the recorded name, 
And solemn honour of our feasts and fame. 
For though the Isis and the prouder Thames 
Can shew his relics lodged hard by their streams, 
And must for ever to the honoured name 
Of noble Murray chiefly owe that fame ; 



AND EJACULATIONS. 305 

Yet here his stars first saw him ; and, when fate. 
Beckoned him hence, it knew no other date.. 
Nor will these vocal woods and vallies fail, 
Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail ; 
But, while swains hope, and seasons change, wilf 

glide 
With moving murmurs because Daphnis dyed.. 



A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes, 
Then runs along with public plagues and 1 woes* 
Lies heavy on us; and the very light, 
Turned mourner too, hath the dull looks of night. 
Our vales, like those of death, a darkness shew 
More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew. 
And on our hills, where health with height com- 
plied, 
Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside.. 
Not one short parcel of the tedious year 
In its own dress and beauty doth appear. 
Flowers hate the spring ; and, with a sullen bend,. 
Thrust down their heads, and to the root still tend. 
And though the sun, like a cold lover peeps 
A little at them, still the day's eye sleeps. * 
But, when the Crab and Lion with acute 
And active fires their sluggish heat recruit, 
Our grass straight russets, and each scorching day 
Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May ; 
Till the sad herdsman with his cattel faints, 
And empty channels ring with loud complaints. 
x 



306 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

MENALCAS. 

Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways, 
Change Nature's course ; bring plagues, dearth, 

and decays. 
This turns our land to dust, the skies to brass, 
Makes old kind blessings into curses pass ; 
And, when we learn unknown and forraign crimes. 
Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes. 
The dregs and puddle of all ages now, 
Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow. 
Ah, happy Daphnis ! who, while yet the streams 
Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams, 
Got through, and saw by that declining light 
His toil's and journey's end before the night. 

DAMON. 

A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars, * 
And feral fires appear instead of stars. 
But he along with the last looks of day 
Went hence, and setting sunlike passed away. 
What future storms our present sins do hatch, 
Some in the dark discern, and others watch ; 
Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild, 
Fury that's long fermenting is most wild. 

But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse, 
Phoebus hath finished his diurnal course ; 
The shades prevail ; each bush seems bigger grown ; 
Darkness, like state, makes small things swell and 

frown ; 
The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round, 
And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound. 



AND EJACULATIONS. 307 

MENALCAS. 

What voice from yonder lawn tends hither ? Hark ! 
Tis Thyrsis calls ! I hear Lycanthe bark ! 
His flocks left out so late, and weary grown, 
Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down. 

DAMON. 

Menalcas, haste to look them out ! Poor sheep, 
When day is done, go willingly to sleep : 
And could bad man his time spend as they do, 
He might go sleep, or die as willing too. 

MENALCAS. 

Farewell, kind Damon ! now the shepherd's star 
With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far. 
All creatures that were favorites of day 
Are with the sun retired and gone away. 
While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes, 
And night, the nurse of thought, sad thoughts 

promotes : 
But joy will yet come with the morning light, 
Though sadly now we bid good night ! 

Damon. 

Good night ! 

FINIS. 



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